Twisted Fate
by WackyGoofball
Summary: What starts as a normal day of work might change the life of one team member forever. It's a twist of fate when teenager Marty Deeks is brought to them as a murder suspect, but this teenager may be more, much more than meets the eye. What will happen to the team? What to Marty? Read to find out ;) Contains rape, child abuse, violence etc. (implicit, mostly). AU. ooc-ish.
1. The Boy With Blue Eyes

Author's Note:Okay, here goes my third story, this time NCIS: L.A. I was inspired by the story of another author, sillymissy98 who wrote "**Deeks is a teen and in trouble**". I very much enjoyed the idea of, I guess title says it, Deeks as a teenager while the others are in the original time line. Therefore, special thanks to sillymissy98 because I want to write something similar now, so thanks for the inspiration, but... of course, I wanna twist it some other way to make it my own.

Summary: What starts off as a normal day of work might change the life of one team member forever. It's a twist of fate when teenager Marty Deeks is brought to them as a murder suspect, but this teenager may be more, much more than meets the eye. What will happen to the team? What to Marty? Read to find out ;) Contains rape, child abuse, violence etc. (not always explicit).

* some fixes done for this chapter - the vocab mistake is fixed now. Thanks for pointing it out. My dictionary gave me the wrong term.

Reviews are more than welcome, as is any reader^^

Read, review and hopefully enjoy;)

* * *

Kensi Blye walks up to her boss G Callen at the bullpen of the Los Angeles Naval Crime Investigate Service.

"Hey Callen," the brunette woman waves at him, flashing a warm smile.

"Hey, what's up?" he greets her.

"Hetty wants to see us. I think we got a new case... and if she tells me to order you...," Kensi informs him with a smirk.

"It's urgent," Callen nods. When Hetty calls, you better jumped already. That is the first lesson you learn when you meet that woman.

"Got that right," Kensi snickers. Callen parks his bag on his desk before the two walk into OPS where they are greeted by the rest of the team.

"Ms. Blye, Mr. Callen, I see you decided to finally join us?" Hetty greets them with her signature smirk.

"In fact," Callen shrugs.

"So now, Mr. Beale, if you would be so kind?" Hetty nods at the screen. Eric is already at his feet (so much about how you jump when Hetty calls) and starts with his presentation, "Okay, guys. We got a dead Marine."

"Lieutenant Commander Bryan Carter. He was found dead in an alley on the outskirt of town. He has a stab wound which, as far as autopsy goes, was not fatal, but the two gunshot wounds to the chest," Nell adds.

"He was seen in the diner on the other side of the road having a coffee, but he doesn't seem to be a regular client," Eric informs, showing the footage on-screen.

"So he may have waited for a meeting," Sam nods.

"What do we know about him?" Callen asks, arms crossed over his chest.

"Nothing much that is spectacular, so to speak. He has a wife... a clean file. Nothing that would speak for an enemy," Nell informs him.

"But... we got a suspect," Eric says. The agents look at the analyst with huge eyes.

"Why didn't you say that right away?" Callen exclaims.

"Because it's a very sensitive matter, so to speak, Mr. Callen," Hetty provides.

"Why's that, Hetty?" Kensi frowns.

"Mr. Beale?" Hetty nods at the analyst. Eric switches on one of the screens with a video of the boatshed, where they interrogate suspects...

"That's a kid!" Sam exclaims. All stare at the screen with wide eyes. Where normally criminals and terrorists take their seat, sits a cuffed boy with blond shaggy hair falling into his eyes, worn clothes, pale. In his spot, one can't even tell the color of his eyes. Yet, the boy can't be older than sixteen. What is he doing in that interrogation room?!

"What is this about?" Callen asks, regaining his composure, though he is still shocked at the news.

"He was found down that alley cowering behind the dumpsters... he was over with blood that was identified as Carter's... and he had a knife in his pocket which was also over with blood," Nell replies with growing discomfort.

"And the shotgun?" Sam asks.

"They didn't find it yet," Eric grimaces.

"But why would he keep the knife and get rid of the gun? I mean...," Sam frowns.

"They are still going through the trash, maybe they'll find it. And judging by the looks...," Eric informs.

"... judging by the looks he's living in the streets... and then you need a knife... even more than you need a gun, if only for the more practical reasons of cutting things," Kensi suggests, speaking from experience.

"What does he say about it?" Callen nods at the screen.

"Nothing," Hetty shrugs.

"Nothing? What do you mean, _nothing?"_ Callen knits his eyebrows.

"He didn't talk ever since they took him into custody. We are running facial scans, but... if he lives out in the streets for long enough, chances are low we actually get a hit. Would be best if you got the little one talking," Nell explains.

"Okay... did he fight back when they got him?" Callen asks.

"No, I guess he was still in shock by the time. He wasn't even running away when they arrived, after all," Eric shrugs.

"Good, okay... who took him?" Callen questions.

"What?" Nell makes a face. What does it matter?

"Who took him? Names," the Senior Agent gesticulates. They don't have the time to fool around.

"Why?" Eric blinks at him.

"Just tell me the names," Callen rolls his eyes.

"Jennings and Sanders," Eric provides after a quick glance at the records.

"Then you'll interrogate him for starters, Kensi," the team leader orders.

"Any certain reason why you want me to do it?" Kensi questions. She knows that G usually wants to go first when there is such a... weird... case.

"He's only been with men. Maybe they intimidate him. It's at least worth giving a shot," he suggests.

Kensi nods, "Good thinking. Then you come in once you think it's time."

"Good," he agrees.

"I'll go to the scene another time," Sam offers.

"Yeah, good, thanks," Callen winks. With that the three agents leave the OPS.

* * *

_In the boatshed:_

"Okay, I'll give you a sign when I think it's okay you come in," Kensi suggests. Callen grabs into his pocket and retrieves an energy bar and a chocolate bar he hands to her.

"What? You feed me?" she snickers.

"No, you feed him. May buy you his trust... and that guy probably didn't have much food recently. Let's be nice to him, for starters," he argues with a smirk.

"Okay. I'm going in," Kensi claps her hands together as she makes her way inside. Callen takes his stance in front of the screen. As Kensi comes in, the teenager looks at the noise of the door opening once, but then keeps on staring at the opposing wall, his eyes never averting – and for all its worth very, very strong.

"Hi," Kensi greets politely. She smiles at him sweetly as she settles down, loosely folding her hands on the table. The kid says nothing, though. Kensi has to try hard not to swallow at the blood spatters still over his face – and he didn't even try to wipe them away, as she can see the droplets that haven't been touched still on his head and most of his clothes and torso. It just looks so wrong on a boy to have so much blood on him. His baby blue eyes are beautiful, absolutely stunning, breathtaking, but just now... totally dead, blank, wiped clean. That is something Kensi only vaguely remembers from soldiers who came back changed. So what did that kid go through to earn himself such empty eyes?

"I'm Kensi. Who are you?" she asks sweetly. The kid says nothing.

"Okay. I know this must be really confusing for you now. Do you know where you are?" Kensi asks tentatively. The kid says nothing again.

"You are at the Naval Crime Investigate Service, NCIS. I'm Junior Agent for this organization," she explains, showing her badge. The kid says nothing.

"Do you understand why you are with us and not the police?" Kensi asks, but still, the kid won't respond. This will be one pain in the ass.

"Okay, uhm... can you at least give me a sign that you understand what I'm saying? If not I'll have to call in a translator," Kensi exhales. At that comment, he actually nods his head. Kensi has to try hard not to jump up from her seat at the little success.

"So you do understand me? Or do you have trouble hearing?" Kensi asks hastily. He nods his head, then shakes it. After that he goes back to stoicism.

"Great. So since you understand me... you just don't want to talk to me, that it?" she smirks. The kids nods again, and there's the hint of a grin, if only just a hint, soon overcome by darkness again, though.

"Okay, so maybe we can arrange ourselves to you nodding and shaking your head?" Kensi suggests. The teenager shrugs. _Yeah,_ this is not going to be fun.

"Is that a 'yes'?" she wants to make sure. The kid shrugs once again. Perhaps this is a 'maybe'?

"I get it that you may not like it, but it would be really good if you talked to me. It doesn't have to be about anything specific yet. It's just that it will get hard to cooperate with you if you don't talk to me," Kensi negotiates. But he looks away again, _through_ her, just as though she isn't even there. He doesn't even have to say 'no' to make his disagreement clear.

"Alright... maybe something else. I think you're a smart kid if you survive on the street that long... so...," she holds out the energy bar and places it on the table in front of her.

"You can have that if you want... but... for that I wanna hear something from you. Anything. Your name, your age... something about yourself," Kensi bargains with a smirk. But he draws away, again. Kensi lets out a sigh. He is smarter than she thought. She lived in the streets for a year – and she knows how far some of the hungry kids go to get their hands on such a thing, but he is smart enough not to. And it takes a lot, given that he probably rarely gets to eat at all. She exhales as she puts out the chocolate bar and places it right next to the energy bar.

"Maybe that's more your thing? C'mon, I bet you dig chocolate," she wiggles her eyebrows at him, but the kid remains in his seat, almost motionless, looking like a broken rag doll.

"I used to live in the streets myself, for about a year, you know?" Kensi admits, figuring that maybe that will break the ice, once he sees they share a common ground. The kid says nothing, though, just stares into nothingness. He just withdraws to a place she can't follow him to, as it seems.

"And I know it is hard and... you do some things you would rather not do, but... you don't have to be afraid, you can talk to me about this," Kensi offers in a soothing voice. The kid withdraws further rand further with his eyes. Whatever place he can see with those... it must be damn good escape.

"I know I would've done anything for one of these. I'd still do. I totally dig chocolate," she tries again, clutching at the remaining straws. But the silence wins. He is some place far off and he won't let her in. Kensi can't say when exactly she lost him, but he suddenly withdrew. They sit there for a long while, but he doesn't break, at all. The junior agent interrogated grown men who broke after a lot shorter time of silence. Silence is one of the most efficient means, really. Still, this kid won't budge. Kensi lets out a sigh as she gets up.

"I'll be back in a bit," she informs him as she gets up. Kensi goes outside to Callen who has watched all of it over the camera.

"Whatcha think?" she asks with a sigh.

"Well, he's not as rebuffing as I pictured," Callen shrugs.

"What? He refuses to talk to me," Kensi argues, almost exasperated. Did Callen watch this conversation or did he just switch to the Lakers game in the meantime.

"But not in a 'mean' way. He just refuses to talk. He is not aggressive in any way," Callen returns, to which she has to agree, "That's true, of course."

"He tries to appear as though he is sitting there not tensed at all, but... his muscles are tensed. He is nervous but tries to hide that, quite desperately," Callen grimaces.

"But why? I mean, I tried to comfort him, but... it makes no difference to him, as far as I can see," Kensi mutters.

"Well, we don't know what happened. Perhaps he is still in shock," Callen suggest mindfully.

"No shaking," Kensi argues. If he were in shock, he'd show more physical symptoms, like a tremor.

"Doesn't mean he is not be traumatized by what he saw or did," Callen argues.

"True," she nods.

"But he is really good at keeping it up, I must give him that," Callen grins, almost impressed.

"Thought so, too. Most can't handle the silent treatment for long, but he pulls it off," Kensi agrees. There is a moment of silence.

"Well, I don't know what to make of him at some point. He seems... likable, you know? I bet he has a nice smile," she sighs after a while.

"Yeah, with you on that one... but that is not the only criterion, sadly," Callen grimaces.

"I know," she exhales. Sometimes she really wished that would count, too.

"... but one thing I gotta give him... he seems to be upstanding in his own way," G grins.

"What do you mean?" Kensi knits her eyebrows at the comment.

"Well, I know you left the bars there for him to take. Look at the screen," he nods ahead. Kensi looks at display, and the boy didn't even attempt to touch them. She asks, "So what do you think?"

"That he must've learned those rules of proper behavior before and still remembers them. So is not that he lives out there for all his life," Callen shrugs.

"Yeah...," she sighs. Probably another broken family. It's just so sad at times: "So... so you go in now, too?"

"Yeah, I think so. I think he actually wanted to respond to you when you said that you used to be out in the streets yourself. His mimic changed, even if just slightly. Maybe if I start on foster homes we get him to talk. Coz that's the most important thing for now," Callen suggests, to which she agrees.

"Then you go in first, I come in in a short bit," Callen says, to which Kensi nods, "Okay."

Kensi walks back inside, putting on her smiley-face again as she settles back down.

"I see you didn't take my stuff... okay, well, that speaks for good manners. For that...," she slides the chocolate bar over to him. "Without having to say a thing... you can eat it, no poison in it, I promise."

She winks at him. The boy actually takes it, but rather stuffs it into his pocket.

"Or you save it for later. Smart," Kensi shrugs with a smirk. He shrugs back at her.

"Is there someone we're supposed to call?" she asks tentatively. He shakes his head, with a bit more vehemence.

"Okay...," she sighs. That is the moment Callen makes his appearance.

"Hi, I'm Agent G Callen," he introduces himself as he sits down next to Kensi. The kid nods lazily.

"So now... We found blood on you that matches a man by name Bryan Carter. That man is dead now... and we just got a report that confirmed that the knife you had has his blood on it the same way. So now... you either give us something to work with, or it's looking really bad for you," Callen threatens. Kensi has to try hard to keep her face straight. She would actually like to nudge him into the side for being that harsh with the boy. He is obviously shocked, still. Good cop bad cop on a teenager in shock? Not so nice. Plus, the plan was another one last time she checked!

"Given that you are underage, you may sit in for ten to twenty years, actually. You get me? Ten or more years of being stuck in a tiny room with a violent roommate who's gonna take the upper bed though he's too heavy for it, with scum who did probably worse than you did, and some of the guard in there are worse than dirty cops, you get me? So you really want that?" Callen threatens. That is when the boy speaks up for the first time, "You really think you scare me with that?"

His eyes do not meet Callen's, venom clear even through the raw voice he has.

"You don't think this is scary?" Callen questions.

"Place with regular food, heating, and a roof? Sounds like the damn Ritz," the boy snorts.

"You'll think about that differently once you're there, kid," Callen shakes his head.

"I wouldn't be too convinced of that," the boy exhales.

"I would be if I were you," Callen argues.

"You should thank whatever deity you believe in that you are not me," the teenager retorts in a growl, sadness tugging at his voice.

"It remains the same, kid. Bad stuff will happen if you don't start to cooperate with us. You only make it worse for you. If you talk to us now and give us all the information I can guarantee you that we will try to put in a good word for you, but that only works if you cooperate," Callen insists.

"I don't care whether you do me that little favor," the teenager snorts.

"You will mind if it's about the duration of your stay in prison," Callen threatens.

"Longer or shorter while in the Ritz? There's hardly any harm in that. I dig surprises," the teenager snickers darkly, his cuffs clicking at the movement.

"Let's leave the crap aside, shall we? I see you are smart and you understand what's going on, so I hope you understand your situation. Given you do, why aren't we just trying to be honest to each other? Why don't you just tell us what was going on so we can help you?" Callen questions, but that is when the boy starts to yell at them with force neither one expected to come from that frail body: "You can't help me!"

"Why? Listen, kid, we...," Callen tries to say, but the boy intervenes atop of his voice, "I killed him – so no way you help me, okay?! I fuckin' killed this dipshit!"

"So you admit the murder?" Callen questions, his face straight.

"Yeah, I admit the fuckin' murder! Bring me the godforsaken form and I sign it, whatever you want!" the teenager curses.

"So you admit that you killed him?" Callen asks, his face still calm.

"Yeah, I stabbed him! Goddamn! I killed him! Stabbed him! Gimme the form to confirm it, then this is finally over! I killed him!" the teenager curses through gritted teeth, suddenly looking more like an animal than a teenager. His eyes glimmer with fury.

"You admit that you stabbed him," Callen repeats.

"Yeah! For god's sake! I already said it! I stabbed him! Isn't that enough now?! Don't you have what you want!?" the boy cries out angrily.

"You admit that you killed him by stabbing him?" Callen asks another time. This time the boy really screams, "Yes!"

"Then... we know you didn't do it," Callen proclaims. The boy stares daggers at him, "What? I stabbed him! I killed him! The fuck!"

"Kid, Carter died from two gunshot wounds, the stab wound was not fatal," Callen explains. That is why he decided to push on it. The teenager stabbed him, but he didn't shoot him. The teenager just admitted it.

"Fine, then I shot him, too! Forgot to mention that," the boy mutters, though his voice is quivering.

"No, you didn't know about this, kid. I asked you three times. You admitted that you _stabbed_ him," Callen explains.

"I admitted that I killed him! What does it matter how I did it? Two more years for handling a gun, who cares?! Just gimme the sheet I'm supposed to sign and I'm off!" the teenager growls.

"You didn't do it. We can only charge you for battery of a Marine, if at all," Kensi assures.

"Do I get less for stabbing a non-Marine?" the boy frowns.

"What? No," Callen knits his eyebrows at that. Where did that comment come from?

"Then why do you stress that it's been a Marine? Just coz you're from NCIS and not just CIS only matters that it's Marines?" the teenager questions.

"No, kid, that's not it. But I don't get it what a Marine does in that alley if he's got a wife at home, house...," Callen explains, but the boy interrupts him angrily, "Coz Marines are infallible, that it?"

"Kid, I don't judge. I'm just trying to wrap my head around this," Callen tries to calm him, but the boy only gets madder with every second passing, "My word against the name of a dead Marine. I think the Marine wins. No, I _know_ the Marine wins!"

"This is not about who wins or not, kid," Callen shakes his head.

"It always is!" the teen exclaims.

"What did you have to to do with Carter? What did he do?" Callen questions. The teenager suddenly hesitates, as his eyes focus on Kensi.

"I say nothing in front of her," he nods at Kensi.

"Kensi?" Callen turns to the Junior Agent.

"What?" she asks with a frown.

"Would you leave us two alone?" G glances at her.

"But...," she means to argue, but Callen interrupts her curtly, "Thanks."

"Okay," Kensi shrugs, getting up to leave the room. She knows better than to undermine her partner's authority in an interrogation. She leaves the room.

"So now she's outside, we're under men. What is it with Carter? What did he do?" Callen asks.

"What's it to you?" the boy counters dismissively.

"You accuse him of something... and for that I gotta know what it is. How else would I learn the truth, you tell me? That's the way the game goes," Callen explains, but the teenager only gets madder, "Game? This ain't a game! But fine, let's pretend it is! Then let's try it for starters and call it _let's-see-when-the-cop-doesn't-trust-you-anymore_!"

"... okay, I'm in," Callen nods.

"We didn't meet by accident," the teenager states, his eyes not leaving Callen's for only just a moment.

"Alright," Callen replies.

"He was the one to bring me there," the boy continues.

"... okay," Callen goes with it.

"That guy paid for few rounds of teenage ass and got more than he bargained for," the teenager says with a straight face. Callen can only gape at that. That was the last thing he ever expected, "You, you mean that he... he paid you for sex?"

"Are you guys shittin' me or what's the matter?! As if he'd just pay me! Course he got me from the catalog. Blond and blue eyes sell like hell!" the teenager snorts.

"You... uhm... this was...," Callen grimaces, still trying to regain his composure.

"Not deliberate. I was forced by my handler – and your dear Marine-Boy thought no better than hunt young teenage ass to ride on, after all, that was the bargain," the teenager hisses.

"Y... You, you are in a sex ring?" Callen brings out.

"No, there's just this catalog you can order... don't come to have one on me. Maybe I should ask my handler for a few copies to pass around as advertisement," the boy snorts dismissively.

"Kid, now listen to me, if what you say is true, then...," Callen tries to say, but the teenager interrupts him harshly, "Then _what_? You throw me into prison for saying that Carter was one of the top buyers from this catalog? That I stain the name of a Marine? Of all Marines? Or that I did something once he tried to shove it into my ass?!"

"Kid, we can help you, okay?" Callen tries to assure him, but that is futile now.

"Help me? Help me! You're kiddin' me, right?! Last time I asked police to help me, they beat the crap outta me all night long, no, thank you," the boy cries out in exasperation.

"We're not police," Callen shakes his head.

"You're NCIS, so what does it matter? All the same difference," the teenager leans back in his chair. He's heard this song too often already.

"No, kid. We don't do that shit, okay? No one's here to hurt you, no one," Callen assures.

"Go kid yourself... do I get a lawyer now? I think I'm actually granted one by law," the teenager snorts.

"Yes, you are allowed to have a lawyer, but we may not need that. If you tell us who took out Carter, then we might be able to pull some strings for you," Callen offers, but the teenager is having none of it, "Problem is that I did it. I killed him, so how you gonna pull the strings for me?"

"Whom are you guarding?" Callen questions.

"No one," the teenager sighs.

"If you didn't cover up for someone, you would have stuck to the stab wound," Callen argues.

"Sheesh," the teenager hisses, shaking his head.

"If one of your friends did it or so... we can help. You never should've been in that situation to begin with," Callen tries again.

"There is no one. I killed him. End of story," the boy snorts.

"You stabbed him. And he didn't die from the stab wound," Callen insists.

"And after I stabbed him I shot him," the teen mutters.

"Then where's the gun?" Callen questions.

"I don't know," the boy shrugs.

"You never had a gun, kid," G shakes his head.

"Oh, I handled more than one gun in my life, believe me," the teenager replies darkly.

"You never had the gun that killed him, boy," Callen insists.

"I killed him. He's dead coz of me. So just turn me in so that we can get over with this shit!" the teenager hollers angrily.

"I didn't think I'd ever say that, but... no, I won't turn you in," Callen shakes his head.

"I killed him. I killed him. I killed him. I killed him," the boy blinks rapidly, frantically repeating his mantra.

"Here's what I think what happened: He wanted to have sex with you, but went too far. That's why you stabbed him, in self-defense. You ran away, maybe you even thought about getting help. Then suddenly someone you know or are deadly afraid of, came into the alley, maybe you didn't see that person at all and just ran because you were afraid that police would get you for stabbing Carter. That person fired two shots at Carter, killing him. You ran away and hid behind the dumpsters. And up to that point you believed that it was either the stab wound that already killed him was the reason or that this certain someone who shot him is actually after you... And because you were so shocked thanks to that, you just stayed there," Callen explains his theory. The kid gulps. Callen knows he is right. That's the only way things fit together.

"I killed him," the boy mutters hoarsely.

"No, you didn't. You stabbed him after he tried to take advantage of you," Callen insists.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. Killed him. Killed him. Killed him. Killed him. Killed him. No, no, no, no, no, no. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill," the boy mutters erratically. The kid suddenly starts to shake madly. Callen is already at his feet, realizing the way the kid acts might actually be medical now.

"Okay, okay, kid. You need to calm down. Now I want you to focus on me and take a deep breath," Callen tries to soothe him, already taking a firm hold on his arms.

"Die. Die. Die. Die. Die. Die. Die," the teen heaves.

"Kid? Kid? Now look at me!" Callen tries to snap him out of it, but the boy only manages to gasp, "Marty. Name's Marty... Deeks... Marty... Marty... Marty... Marty..."

"Marty, focus on me. You gotta breathe. Focus on me, Marty. Marty!" Callen tries again. But the teenager's movements become even more erratic and eyes roll into the back of his head. Callen is instantly up to catch the boy as he falls.

"Kensi!" the Senior Agent yells as he eases the boy down. The Junior Agent is already on the phone calling for the ambulance as Callen holds on to him so that he doesn't hurt himself. Kensi comes inside and slides down on the ground next to him.

"Is he having a seizure?" Kensi asks nervously.

"I don't know...," Callen grimaces, holding on tighter.

"He's burning up!" Kensi exclaims, cringing upon touching his forehead. Callen glances at the side of the young man as he holds him down, just to find a fat brown stain on it.

"Didn't police check him over?!" Callen cries out.

"Seemingly not! I thought he was fine!" Kensi gasps. G pulls the shirt up a bit just to see a nasty wound which is only taped, the bandages totally soaked.

"Oh my god!" Kensi exclaims.

"He didn't get that today, that's for sure," Callen grunts. Really, how could they miss that?

"Then this might be thanks to the infection," Kensi nods. rolls the shirt up further to search for other wounds they didn't see and he has to stifle a gasp at the extensive bruising and scars on that boy. He looks over at Kensi who only reflects his thoughts with her mimic.

"We should've seen that," Kensi shakes her head sadly.

"Yeah, we should have," Callen agrees.

Soon the ambulance arrives and the teenager is brought to hospital.

Just what the hell is going on with this teenager?

Who is this Marty Deeks?


	2. Hospitals and Revelations

Author's Note: Thank you so, so, so, so, so, so much for reading my stories and the great reviews! I never expected to get such nice feedback for the story! So, here comes the next chapter ;) Hope you'll enjoy. Review if you like, or don't, it's your choice... and we live in a free country ;)

Oh, I forgot to mention before: I don't own the characters, trademarks or whatever. I have nothing.

* * *

As the boy, _no_, Marty Deeks, is brought to hospital, the team decided to gather once again to decide on the next steps. Thus, all are in the OPS now.

"This case just hit another level of madness. This poor guy," Eric exhales, turning around in his chair.

"God," Nell exhales, still shocked.

"What do we do with him?" Sam questions, trying to keep his composure. As a family father himself, it's always hard to see children involved with their kind of business, but to have one convulsing in the boatshed... no, that brings up thoughts you would rather stuff into a very tiny box and then burn it, blow it up, drop it into the ocean, _something_.

"As of now, he'll get the medical treatment he needs. Everything else will be decided once this young man is at least stable to some degree again," Hetty answers, her voice failing her towards the end – and that rarely happens. It touched her, too, that much is for sure.

"But if it's true what he said and what we concluded, then... he's in danger that the same person who shot Carter is now after him – if we let him walk away back to the streets. They'll know that he was over at the NCIS, and now that they even give him treatment... this is bad," Kensi shakes her head, trying to shake the pictures of the boy convulsing the same way, but... of course it doesn't work.

"Well, Ms. Blye. There are ways to bypass just that," Hetty shrugs. Kensi frowns, "And how?"

"Until this case is solved, he'll be under the protection of the NCIS, easy as that. He is essential to find out who killed Mr. Carter, which is our primary function here," Hetty explains with resolution.

"Something doesn't sit right with me on this case. I don't know," Callen grimaces.

"Is always hard when kids are involved," Sam admits out loud.

"Yeah, of course, but... I just... I don't know. It's just something I can't put my finger on," Callen exhales, running a shaky hand over his face. Something feels utterly wrong about this, the case, not a boy collapsing in their care.

"Well, we have to think about what we do with him. I don't think he'd talk to a psychologist, given how repulsing he was, even if it's Nate or America's Next Top Model," Kensi argues.

"Oh, I think it's already pretty clear who will be talking to him," Hetty proclaims with a vicious snicker on her thin lips.

"Yeah?" Kensi knits her eyebrows.

"Well, obviously it's going to be Mr. Callen," Hetty shrugs. Callen's jaw drops, "What? Why _me_?"

"He trusts you," Hetty shrugs.

"He... he wanted to kill me with his stares," Callen argues.

"He talked to you, and that only after a few minutes," Hetty replies, "Something Kensi didn't manage. You came in and he almost instantly talked to you. That means there is something."

"He talked to me coz I taunted him," Callen retorts.

"Doesn't make a difference. You know how it is, G. Kids choose someone they talk to. He didn't choose to talk to Kensi. Be it that it was your approach, but he chose to talk to you. He chose you. That is all we have to build on right now," Sam throws in.

"I'm with Sam on that one. And it isn't that he only did this out of the moment. When he tackled the problem about... you know what I mean... he sent me out, but he asked you to stay there. He trusted you that you'd get me out so that he doesn't lose his face in front of me. It's as Sam says. He chose you," Kensi agrees in a soft voice.

"Exactly. You are the person he talks to and whom the boy allows to be talked to, so it's obvious that you will be taking care of him until we get him into talking to Mr. Getz," Hetty claps her hands together.

"I don't think he's gonna like that, at all," Callen gesticulates. And that is an understatement.

"And I think that this is the least of our concerns at this moment. We cannot focus on the boy's sentiment at that point. We have to get him to talk to us. So... Mr. Callen, you are going to go to the hospital to see him, now," Hetty instructs.

"Ugh," Callen grunts. Really, why does he always end up with the shitty jobs? Normally, you just hand them to the younger ones, hence Kensi.

"We will fill you in when we have something new. So now, please, Mr. Callen," Hetty urges the Senior Agent – and G knows that her decision is final, so he gives in, "Okay, then I'm on kid watch."

Sam and Kensi can't hide a smile as the Senior Agent takes off. Normally, G Callen is so stoic at times, but it's clear that this is a task he doesn't want to have – and then he is almost as defiant as a small child.

* * *

G drives to the hospital, parks the car in the parking lot, and makes his way to the reception desk upon entering the building, not fancying the smell that greets him right away, the one of death and disinfectant.

"Hi, NCIS Special Agent G Callen, I'm here for Marty Deeks, the boy who was brought in here with the wound to the side. I'm here as his protection detail," Callen explains, briefly flashing his badge at the nurse.

"Yes, uhm, just let me get... ah, there he is! Dr. Phelps! Over here!" the nurse with brunette hair waves at the doctor just passing by. He walks up them, stuffing the clipboard under his arm.

"He wants to talk to you," the nurse nods at Callen.

"Thank you, Marie," Dr. Phelps nods, before he turns to G.

"Hi, I'm G Callen, NCIS. I came here as protection detail for Marty Deeks, the teenager with the wound to the side who was brought here little while ago," Callen tells him.

"Ah, yes, okay. Your boss already gave a call to tell us about your arrival. I'm Dr. Phelps. I'm his physician in charge. Pleasure," the physician introduces himself, shaking G's hand, "Pleasure."

"Shall I bring you to him?" the doctor suggests. Callen nods politely, "Yes, please."

"Then follow me," Dr. Phelps gesticulates before walking ahead. The two make their way down the hallways.

"So... uhm... how is he?" Callen asks.

"He is stable now," the doctor assures. Callen nods. Good. That's good.

"Good... then what is it with the injury?" G asks. It's also something not sitting right with him. Where would the boy get it from?

"The wound to his side got infected. When he got agitated in the argument, as I assume, his fever climbed exponentially and his system shut down, leading to the spell he had," the doctor explains.

"So no real seizure or so?" Callen asks, because that would be _really_ creepy.

"No, that was the fever. We have him on antibiotics now and he is responding well to them. We gave him some ice bags and he is already down to 102," the doctor assures.

"Oh, that's good. Do you have any idea how he got the wound?" G asks.

"Gunshot, but the bullet just grazed him, a few days before," Dr. Phelps explains with a pang of sadness in his voice.

"Wow, okay," Callen whistles. Still a miracle the boy could sit upright that long, without making a face. Furthermore, that the boy was already involved in a gunfight before stabbing Carter only makes Callen realize how deep in the shit this teenager is.

"What else? I saw like... uhm... on his upper body...," Callen whispers.

"As for the rest... he's been beaten up only just recently. And I found wounds and bruises of varying degrees and healing stages, which means this kind of abuse has gone on over an extended period, years," the doctor informs him. Callen closes his eyes, "Shit."

"Well, and then...," the physician's voice trails off. He suddenly stops dead in his tracks. Callen fears for where this is heading. He swallows thickly.

"There is something else about his status, but that is not related to, well... his condition," the doctor admits.

"Okay, well, what is it?" Callen asks.

"Am I allowed to share that with you?" the doctor asks.

"It might be vital to the investigation," G assures. Even if he'd rather not know now. He'd rather be anywhere else but here now.

"... we found traces that there was involuntary intercourse... just recently and a while ago also. We found scarring and blood...," the doctor brings out, visibly shaken by that himself. Callen has to swallow hard, but then tries to focus on being an agent. That helps at least a bit against the tears forming in his eyes only at the thought.

"Was there also... sperm, for... for DNA analysis?" the agent brings out without having to gag.

"We're still testing it. We might have more than one... and... as I said... it wasn't the first time," the physician exhales angrily. Really, who does that to children?!

"Geez," Callen runs a shaky hand over his face. The boy said that he was in that sex ring, but till last G had hoped that maybe he lied. Or that it wasn't with... with intercourse. _Jesus._

"He is awake, so if you want to, you can see him," the doctor says, starting to walk again.

"Okay," Callen nods.

"He hasn't talked since he woke up," Dr. Phelps informs him.

"He is likely to do that, I fear," Callen grimaces.

"But please don't make him upset, otherwise his temperature might spike again," the doctor instructs him. Callen nods, "Yeah, of course."

"Okay, this is his... Anna?" Dr. Phelps says, waving at a blonde nurse in her forties. The nurse comes over to him.

"Was Mr. Deeks brought to a procedure?" the physician asks with a frown.

"No, doctor. I just left him to himself to rest... why?" Anna grimaces.

"He's not in his room," he points at the bed, which is empty. Callen instantly orders, "Okay, you gotta shut down the building. We can't have him sneak away. Silent alarm."

Anna runs off while Callen walks inside, checks under the bed, then walks over to the bathroom and opens the door slowly. He walks inside just to find a figure cowering in one of the corners.

"Found him!" he calls over his shoulder. The doctor runs after Anna to tell her the news. G takes a deep breath before making his way inside, his steps small and silent.

"Hey. Remember me? I'm G Callen. We met in the interrogation room," he says in a hushed voice. The kid turns his head away.

"Okay, I think we didn't have the best start," Callen grimaces, and that, again... is a _total_ understatement. The kid tries to huff, but it comes out rather weak. He still looks straight-up terrified. "You know where you are, right? You are in hospital not far away from where we both met," Callen explains. The kid doesn't answer, though.

"Okay, I know, I know you'd probably rather be anywhere but here and with anyone but me, but I'm not here to hurt you or so, I'm here to protect you," G assures.

"Protect me? Or make sure I don't run away?" Marty huffs.

"Well, if you run away, I can't protect you, so maybe I do both?" Callen offers with a faint smile. The teenager lets out a dry laugh.

"I mean it the way I say it. I want to protect you," Callen says, now with a bit more force in his voice. He means it.

"You are ordered to," Marty retorts. No way that guy actually cares for him.

"And I want it," Callen assures another time.

"Right," the kid snarls sarcastically.

"Why did you go into the bathroom?" G asks.

"Last time I ended up in hospital... not so pretty," the teenager shrugs. Callen grimaces. Did that guy really stumble into a hospital where someone tried to hurt him? One of the staff? It's outrageous how much misfortune can seemingly happen to one person, one boy.

"Well, those guys are fine. I've ended up here couple of times myself," Callen offers.

"Huh," the teenager shrugs.

"You gave us a scare, two times already," Callen smirks.

"Don't bother, will be outta your life as fast as I bumped into it," Marty snorts dismissively.

"Not really," Callen shakes his head.

"Why's that?" Marty frowns, glancing at him briefly.

"Because I listen to my boss and she wants me to protect you and make sure you're alright. So... not getting outta your life that fast," Callen shrugs.

"Sorry if I cause you trouble," the teenager snarls.

"I'm fine with it," Callen says

"Guess only reason why you guys still give a fuck is coz you want me to give you some names or whatever," Marty shrugs. That must be just it. They still need him, that's why. People are only nice to you for as long as they need you. That is a lesson he learned long time ago.

"We think that whoever murdered Carter might be after you now, so we take care of you," Callen explains, putting as much credibility into his statement as he can muster.

"Great...," Marty huffs. There is a moment of silence.

"Okay, I don't think you should be sitting on the cold tiles for too long. The doc said you had a nasty fever," Callen grimaces.

"I guess I don't have much of a choice," the teenager shrugs.

"Not really. I think you're supposed to have that IV line in your body anyways. So let's get you hooked up again, shall we?" Callen offers, to which the teenager only shrugs again, "Whatever."

He scrambles to his feet, swaying for a second. Callen wants to grab him, but the kid shoves his hand away, "I can do that myself."

"Okay," Callen says, holding his hands up in surrender. The kid probably doesn't want to be touched by a man after what he has been through. Only understandable. As Marty starts to make his way out of the bathroom, Callen keeps a safe distance but is ready to jump into action to catch him if he gets a dizzy spell, but the kid gets to his bed and climbs in, grabs the IV line and plucks it back in himself.

"You know that you're not suppose to do that yourself?" Callen frowns.

"You know I never should've ripped it out in the first place?" Marty returns with a smirk.

"That's true," Callen shrugs. And he has to grin, too.

"So are you just going to stand there or sit there or whatever and stare at me?" the teenager huffs.

"I will stay here until you're released and after that we'll see what we do with you," Callen explains. The teenager sighs.

"So can you tell me something?" Callen asks after a while.

"Bedtime story?" the teenager jokes.

"No, more like... something about you," Callen questions.

"There's nothing 'bout me," Marty shrugs. Absolutely nothing. Less than nothing, thinking about it, "There just ain't anything worth to tell."

"There's always something worth to tell about a person," Callen insists.

"I'm the first one you found who doesn't," Marty gesticulates.

"I don't think so," Callen shakes his head.

"But I do. And I know, in contrast to you," Marty quips, "You're just guessing."

"So, okay, first things first: I gotta ask again. Is there someone we're supposed to call, now that you're in hospital? A relative, a friend?" Callen tries, but the kid says immediately, "There's no one."

"Really? No one? Not even a friend?" Callen frowns. Even street kids normally have a group. It is actually their one security to keep alive. A group is less likely attacked than a single person.

"Where I come from friends are even more dangerous than enemies, so I know better than that and didn't ever bother to make some," the teenager hisses with anguish.

"Your parents?" Callen asks, to which the boy replies with a straight face, "Dead."

"I'm sorry," he brings out, but Marty simply retorts: "Good for you."

Because he isn't. At all. Never.

"So is there something you'd like to know?" Callen asks, figuring that this might bring them further than this game here.

"When do I get outta here?" Marty asks simply.

"As soon as your wound is healed and your fever wears down... so within the next couple of days," Callen shrugs. How is that important now?

"Good, gotta get back on the road ASAP, once I'm outta prison or whatever," the teenager says with determination.

"You won't go to prison," Callen assures.

"Ah, great, so I can take off once they let me out?" the teenager blinks at him.

"No, you're still witness to a murder case, the only witness. And whoever killed Carter might be after you now, which means that you'll be under our protection," Callen explains.

"You call it protection, I call it prison the same way," Marty shrugs.

"Then that is your opinion," Callen sighs.

"Yeah, then this is my opinion," the boy copies him. Both fall silent after that.

"So you're really just going to sit there and wait or what?" Marty asks.

"Something like that. Does that bother you? I mean, you can make loose ends meet if you just cooperate, if you really can't stand it," Callen explains.

"Hey, your ass is gonna get sore, not mine," the teenager huffs.

"Kid, I'm an agent. You're not gonna break me," the agent smirks.

"There are ways to break anyone. You just gotta find the right spot and tackle it," the boy replies, now much darker.

"Where did you learn that piece of wisecrack from?" Callen asks with growing discomfort.

"From the master of breakers," he whispers.

"And who's that?" Callen asks with a frown.

"Got rid of him," the teenager replies in a hushed voice, filled with anger and sorrow.

"And how?" Callen questions.

"That only takes... a shotgun," the teenager says, his face a straight mask.

"Do you want me to get you a lawyer, that it?" Callen frowns. He just admitted that he handled a shotgun.

"Didn't say I shot someone. Just said that it takes a shotgun. Whatcha do with it is something completely else," he shrugs. Marty is just too tired to care for this game. That guy has seemingly taken pity in him, so he will probably not throw him into jail for a gun in hand, something he won't be able to prove anyway.

"Well, you can knock someone out, you can hit with it, you can throw it... after that it gets kinda difficult for me," Callen offers a gentle smile towards the end.

"Seriously? I thought you were the agent here," Marty huffs, though he has to smirk a bit also.

"Enlighten me," Callen challenges, but Marty is having none of it, "Don't think so."

"So empty shells after all?" Callen cocks an eyebrow at him, biting his tongue. Why is he taunting him again?

"All of it. I'm a big one-man-show, or, well, small one, but a one-man-show," the teenager retorts.

"Lone wolf?" Callen frowns.

"What? You ain't? I thought all agents are lone wolves," Marty grimaces.

"I got a team," Callen shrugs. He has this kind of character, admittedly, but he knows he can count on the guys if it comes to it. He is no longer alone.

"Great for you. Hey, is not like I care or whatever," the boy gesticulates dismissively. Callen feels his phone vibrating.

"You gonna answer that?" the teenager blinks at him, to which Callen frowns, "What?"

"Your phone."

"Oh, yeah, I'll just be outside," he replies hastily, noting that this guy really has a good hearing.

"Not running off," the teenager huffs, flicking the IV around to make his point. Callen smirks, "Better be."

With that the Senior Agent walks outside the door, a little out of eavesdrop, but close enough so he can see the boy.

"Eric, what you got for me?" Callen asks, one hand on the hip.

"Nothing much, I fear," Eric grimaces.

"Come again," G frowns. He thought that they would now finally have something. After all, they have a name.

"Well, uhm... I went through CPS files first, since Martin Deeks actually gave me too many hits for L.A. - and we don't know how far he traveled already," Eric explains.

"So he may not be from L.A. originally, yeah. So what did you get?" Callen asks.

"CPS turned out empty," Eric exhales. Callen runs a hand over his face, "Wow, okay..."

"I don't know how that happened, though. I mean, CPS should have a file about him at some point," Eric exclaims.

"If he's a runaway they may not have it. Those guys are overloaded with work anyways. Then they don't bother about one more runaway on the list. I know how that goes," Callen sighs.

"Yeah, well, that makes sense...," Eric shrugs.

"Okay, so did you find anything else?" G asks.

"Of course. Whatcha think?" Eric grins. _Of course_.

"How could I ever doubt that?" Callen snickers.

"So... after that little setback... I looked for missing people," Eric begins. Callen nods: "Sure, missing people are always a good address. What did you come up with?"

"Again, nothing," Eric exhales. _Now what_?

"What? That guy's 16 at most, and I think he's younger. And by the sound of it, he's been out on the streets for a while. And no one's looking for him?" Callen shakes his head. Why is no one looking for the kid? Where does he belong?

"Seemingly not. Well, after that I searched for schools... and there I got a hit for a Martin A. Brandel, not Deeks," Eric explains, but Callen has to grimace at that, "Why would you look for a Martin Brandel?"

"Because I'm amazing and simply checked for Martys or Martins around that age – and ran facial scan on the class pics, just wrote a quick program for that. And I got a hit for a Martin Brandel who looks a lot like the kid, I mean... that is the kid, with 97% certainty," Eric carries on.

"So he changed his last name at some point or lied to me when he said his name's Deeks," Callen sums up, still trying to wrap his head around this. Why did he tell him the wrong name? What's the point?

"Right... but why would he do that?" Eric verbalizes Callen's thoughts.

"There are million possibilities. Might be that he doesn't want us to find out about some of his charges or his involvement in something bigger... or given his condition, he may have mistaken something... as I said, there's a lot of options," Callen sighs, with a mixture of anger and sadness. He doesn't like it when people lie to him. Not when it counts.

"Wow, okay...," Eric grimaces.

"So what did you get from the school?" Callen asks, trying to focus on the lead.

"Nothing much. Only the name, the courses he had... and his age, if I take it for granted that he didn't come in late or early... He's fifteen according to that, so you were good with your predictions, by the way," Eric offers.

"What about his parents?" Callen questions. If he lied about his name... might be he didn't tell the truth about them either.

"That's where it's getting odd again," Eric grimaces.

"Why is that?" Callen frowns.

"Well, actually the files were removed. It's just that he remained in the computer system, and of course in the pictures," Eric explains.

"But schools normally never remove such files from the system," Callen argues. At least he never heard about that before.

"Hey, you don't have to tell me, but we're already looking into it. Kensi and Sam drive to the school as we speak, but it's not looking good coz if the file's outta the system, it's outta the system. And everything about the family was deleted, completely, as though he never had any. Problem is that it's a small school, so most of it was still paperwork," Eric shrugs.

"It sucks when people don't hit computer age...," Callen grins.

"You got no idea. We hope that we might get a hint from the school itself, though," Eric exhales.

"Right. Maybe some of the teachers remember him and can tell us where he used to live. Then you can work from there... or maybe we get some information from students or teachers about the kid himself," Callen nods.

"That's the hope here. Thing is that the kid didn't enroll for the past four years. Might be getting difficult," Eric sighs.

"Well, we'll see, maybe someone remembers him still. Anything else?" Callen asks.

"... you may not like that," Eric grimaces uncomfortably. Callen rolls his eyes, "Eric, whether I like it doesn't matter, just shoot already."

"Well, I thought that maybe he was charged for something...," Eric begins. G nods, "Sure, makes sense. Most of them steal food and everything at some point. So what did you get?"

"Again, I found blackened files...," Eric carries on. Callen gapes, "Blackened files? That's still a teenager we're talking about."

"I know, and that's what got me so confused. Either way, I only got a hint when I ran another facial scan... that's when I found a pic of him taken after a domestic shooting... that was when he was eleven," Eric explains.

"Domestic shooting? Someone of the family shot him?" Callen knits his eyebrows.

"Well, he was charged, so I'd say that he was the one who shot someone else," Eric points out.

"Wow... this is getting weirder by the minute," Callen shakes his head.

"After that I only found one other entry where he was charged for misbehavior in front of police officers... even if this sounds really weird. They say that he tried to attack them... I don't know, you tell me. Is it normal that they keep a teenager for that overnight and then just release him without putting up charges?" Eric grimaces. Really, this isn't making any sense.

"It can happen," Callen shrugs. Though he knows it's unlikely.

"But this was never put to trial," Eric shakes his head.

"Well, it's odd that the officers released him, but it's within the boundaries that they keep him for twenty-four hours if he tried to attack them. Does it say if he was under alcohol or drugs?" G asks.

"Nothing," Eric says.

"Okay, so maybe he was just rebelling when they took him?" Callen suggests, running down the list of options.

"But there was no charge other than that," Eric shakes his head.

"Well, maybe he just attacked them," Callen shrugs.

"Right, but the names of the guys are missing, only the one who wrote the report signed it," Eric informs him. Callen frowns, "Well, that's not the usual procedure."

"Right. I mean, I only found out that it was four because those four were together by the time, yet only one of them charged the kid – and then dropped it again," Eric grimaces.

"Odd, but maybe they just had pity with him and let him walk away. That can happen also," Callen suggests.

"Well, then they could've started on the pity before they kept him there for so long, just my opinion," Eric shakes his head. That is not real pity, is it?

"Okay, duly noted... anything else?" Callen asks.

"No, other than that he's seemingly not even in the system, which is really odd. I only had that for your kind of super agents. Normally there should be birth certificates and a passport, but nothing. I'm trying to find people with last name Brandel now, to see if I find something, but there's a few, actually. So that will take me some time to sort through," Eric sighs.

"Okay, good work. Keep it up," Callen nods.

"How is he?" Eric asks tentatively.

"Oh, okay so far... I mean, given the circumstances. But he didn't have a seizure, so that you and the others know, it was from the fever thanks to an infection," G assures him.

"I see. Okay, I'll let them know. All were a little concerned," Eric smiles sadly.

"Uhm, and... maybe you should see if he was in the hospital couple of times," Callen informs him. Eric frowns, "Why's that?"

"I saw the injuries he had... it's older than a few weeks. I think someone beat him, a lot," Callen licks his lips.

"Sucks," Eric mutters.

"And he did mention he was to hospital once – which is his reason why he doesn't want to be here. Some kind of bad experience. Perhaps we find a name or a passport there," Callen carries on. They have to find out the truth, after all.

"... well, okay, I'll check that out," Eric exhales.

"... and he was... uh... he was... raped... before we found him and... and just recently... they are still testing the sperm for DNA. By the sound of it Carter actually... you know...," Callen speaks in a hushed voice, still struggling to get it out.

"Oh my goodness," Eric exclaims in shock.

"So... might be that he was in hospital for that as well, before he got taken by the sex ring or whatever, to get tested or to get some medicine, something. Or might be he... prostituted himself at some point to get money, just check if you find anything on that. I hope it ain't true, but we gotta check on all sides, just to be sure we don't miss anything. I don't wanna miss on something that might bring us closer to figuring out this situation," Callen brings out.

"I hate those people. He's only just a kid!" Eric growls.

"I know," Callen sighs. He feels just the same.

"How's he taking it?" Eric asks.

"Well, he's... repulsing, at this moment... I gotta see where that goes. Okay, keep me updated," Callen exhales, running a hand over his scalp.

"Will do. Till later," Eric says. Callen nods, "Bye."

He lets out a sigh as he walks back into the room. The teenager quickly averts his eyes. Callen grimaces at the food Marty still didn't touch.

"Not hungry?" Callen asks. The teenager says nothing, still eyes the agent and the food.

"I know it doesn't taste good, or at all, but I can guarantee you there's no drugs in there," the agent tries to joke, but the teenager doesn't react at all, though.

"What now? You saw me. I didn't do anything to it either, alright?" Callen says. The boy stares ahead, though, withdrawing further and further. Callen sighs, "I thought we were past the point that you don't talk to me, at all?"

But, no answer... _great_.

"Okay, then we do that game again. Maybe you'd be at least so polite to nod or shake your head at this question: Is your name Marty Deeks?" Callen questions. The kid shrugs and nods his head, then.

"Aha, well, you know, I was wondering because one of the team did a little research on you... and there it said that your name's Brandel," Callen carries on.

"It's Deeks," Marty grits his teeth with narrowed eyes.

"Well, your school file says otherwise. And now that gets me kinda in a tough spot. I wanna believe you, but things get hard if you lie to me even about those things," Callen argues, but Marty returns harshly, "I didn't lie."

"Your file says otherwise," Callen shrugs.

"Yeah, my file says otherwise 'bout mostly everything! Just coz it's on fuckin' paper doesn't make it fuckin' truth, okay?! I changed my name back to my mother's, is just that on the streets it doesn't matter to the majority of people that you let it change on paper," Marty hisses.

"Why did you change it back to your mother's?" Callen asks, keeping his voice calm.

"Coz I want nothing to do with him," Marty grits his teeth.

"Whom? Your father?" Callen questions further.

"You tell me, you read my _blackened_ files," the teenager huffs sarcastically, though it's clear that he feels hurt.

"Huh?" Callen frowns. Where did that come from?

"You heard me," the boy retorts."

"I don't know what you are talking about," Callen shakes his head.

"We both know that you know what I'm talking about. You just talked to... _Eric_... about it," Marty replies gloomily.

"What? You trying to threaten me? Or what is the matter here?" Callen huffs.

"You're the one who comes in here and asks me if I lied to you. As if I would do that when I'm in shock from fever. I wasn't even thinking by then. But of course this is all part of my big masterplan," Marty rolls his eyes to which Callen shakes his head, "No one's said that."

"It's what everyone thinks, you included," Marty retorts. He's heard this song too often already.

"I don't think like that," Callen insists.

"As if!" Marty grumbles.

"Well, how you know that my friend's name is Eric?" Callen questions. Really, how would he tell?

"You talked to him just now and said his name," Marty retorts.

"You couldn't hear me," Callen argues.

"But you watched me. That means we were face to face," Marty explains. Callen's frown only deepens, "Yeah."

"And that means I can see your lips moving," Marty gesticulates, putting emphasis on the movements of his lips.

"You can read lips?" Callen gapes. Well, _shit_!

"Don't get into your pants 'bout it," the teen huffs.

"Just surprises me," Callen shrugs.

"Yeah, coz you think I'm just one worthless big mouth. Yeah, well, guess what? Even a guy like me can have a talent," Marty rolls his eyes.

"I don't think you're worthless," Callen shakes his head.

"Call it what you want. You think I'm criminal, runaway, possibly addict, cop beater, punk, STD bank, whore... pick one," Marty snorts, playing around with the edge of the bed sheet.

"I never said that," Callen insists.

"Dude, it's what the world thinks about me. And I don't mind, I give a damn. I don't make any effort to give it another impression. I'm way past the point where I care about what people think of me, I don't give a shit and will never," the teenager returns dismissively.

"Well, if you give a damn on what people think of you, then why does it bother you that much that I may have, and I don't say I do, have a certain opinion of you?" Callen questions.

"Easy, I don't care for what people think of me or say 'bout me, but just coz I don't care doesn't mean I just swallow it all. I won't ever do that again," Marty grits his teeth. He swallowed it all for too long. And that was the biggest mistake of his life.

"What won't you do again?" Callen frowns.

"Just shut up," Marty grits his teeth. Never again. He decides when he talks and when he doesn't. He has the freedom of speech now. No one will ever take that from him again.

"You gave me the silent treatment before," Callen argues.

"Sure, but what I mean is that if people treat me a certain way, they get it in their face. Gets me into trouble here and there, but I don't swallow all that, no matter what trouble that brings me," Marty explains darkly. Callen returns, "No one asks you to."

"Everyone does," Marty exclaims. Everyone! Each and everyone! All of them!

"The only thing I want from you is the truth," Callen demands, but Marty just exhales, "Truth..."

Marty falls silent after that. Callen attempts to say something, but lets it be.

What does that guy know about the truth, huh? No one wants to know the truth. They think they do, but once they know it, they just wished they could go back. Marty knows that, because he knows the truth. The teenager turns on his good side and closes his eyes, acting as though he is sleeping, even if he is obviously not.

Silence remains.


	3. The Little Radar

Author's Note: So, here is the next chapter. Thanks for the awesome reviews and that actually so many people read my story (that still blows my mind!). I hope I will not deceive your hopes ;)

* * *

Some time later, Callen gets a text from Kensi that they are at the hospital now. He frowns, but decides that he rather has some company anyway. This little guy is giving him nothing but headaches. G never was the child-person. He pushed it on the job. After all, you don't deal with children on the job, mostly, and if you do, you know they are going back to their families once this is over. He usually lets Sam handle it, he has kids so... he has a vibe with them, but now he is stuck with a traumatized teenager who hates him to his guts. Great.

He glances over at the teenager who is still sleeping, if he isn't pretending, but then makes his way outside Soon Kensi, Sam and Hetty join him outside.

"Hey, is good to see you," Callen exhales with a smile.

"You look really _relieved_?" Kensi frowns.

"Is he that bothersome?" Sam snickers. He can still vividly recall that one time Callen had to "babysit" his first daughter... let's just say it never happened again. Now, Callen is simply the Good Uncle, but never does he stay alone with them.

"Let's go over there, shall we?" Callen grimaces, almost paranoid.

"What? You afraid of him?" Sam smirks. Really, he has never seen Callen this... distressed, really.

"No, he can read lips. That was one embarrassing moment when Eric gave me the update and he knew exactly what we had speculated about. I didn't see that one coming," Callen shakes his head. Kensi laughs, "Wow, that guy's surprising me, a lot."

"I think he is full of surprises," Hetty smirks, brooding over God knows what.

"Yeah, I think so, too. So okay, whatcha got?" Callen shrugs as they walk a bit aside.

"We went to the school Eric found his picture in. We talked to the principal first," Kensi informs him. Sam makes a face, "Awful woman. She was creepy."

"Definitely. I mean, she had those weird trousers and the...," Kensi begins, but G interrupts her harshly, "Guys, focus."

"Well, she only vaguely remembered when the kid enrolled to the school," Sam shrugs.

"So she saw the parents at least once?" Callen asks hopefully.

"Only the mother," Sam explains.

"From the little he talked to me I could gather that there must've been a father at some point, plus the domestic shooting, I think he might have fired at the guy," Callen says.

"The woman said nothing about it. They thought that she was a single parent," Kensi shrugs.

"He said both of them are dead," Callen provides.

"Well, the principal wanted to look through the papers another time, but, much to her surprise, she found nothing," Kensi rolls her eyes. Callen sighs, "Seriously?"

"Well, someone must've gone in there and stole them," Sam says.

"Right, just didn't remove him from the computer system," Kensi agrees.

"You think the kid could've done that?" Sam questions.

"Can't say it's _impossible_, but I honestly ask myself why on earth he would do that. I mean, he's a runaway, what does he care if there's some file of him at his former school?" Callen shakes his head. He just said that he gives a damn on papers, so really... _where would be the point_?

"So someone else deleted his steps," Kensi concludes.

"For whatever the reason," Sam grimaces. _Really_, where's the point in all this? They are talking about a kid. What national secrets could he hide?

"Well, the principal could tell us who was giving the classes he's been at, because the schedules were not removed," Kensi offers. Sam adds, "Thus, we talked to his teachers... most of them didn't even know who the hell he is."

"_But_ we talked to the PE teacher. He remembered Marty because he used to be the best in his class in years. He wanted him to join all sports clubs because he was sure he could get him prizes, but Marty always declined for some reason," Kensi shrugs.

"And he also hinted at his suspicion that he got either trouble at home or with some jocks. He tried to talk to the kid a few times, but he just blocked and said that he's surfer and then you are likely to have bruises. The teacher wanted to talk to his parents, but it never came to a meeting," Sam provides.

"That's typical, once it gets touchy they chicken out...," Callen exhales. He's had that himself. No one takes the last step. When it comes to it, all cowards.

"We also dug up another teacher who remembered him, his... English teacher, woman by name Joanna Riley. She found it odd that he was totally withdrawn during class, didn't interact with her at all," Kensi adds, to which Callen frowns, "The rebel?"

"No, and that's what she found so odd. She said that he tried to act like, but that he never accused her or insulted her or was disrespectful. He just said nothing and wanted to be left alone. And he usually did his homework... and if he didn't, he came up to her by the end of class and mumbled sorry. She said he always handed the things in, even if she didn't ask him to, or didn't grade it because it was too late," Kensi informs him. Really, there is just so much that doesn't fit together about this boy.

"He seemingly found it his obligation," Sam shrugs.

"Right. And she said that his writing was extremely well and above average for his age. She actually kept a few she showed to us. Here," she hands him the paper. Callen quickly scans the page.

"This one was a creative writing assignment. She said she found it very well done, the best she's read in ages. It's just that she found it very dark for a boy that age," Kensi adds.

"... _And Darkness fell upon him. The boy stared up to the sky seeking the stars, but found none. Here he was at World's End and the stars had not followed. As the tears streamed down his face, it hit him, however. And where Chaos was Clarity remained. It was the most natural thing that the stars had not kept their promise to him – because they could not, for this Darkness bore the strength to swallow even the Light. His friends were bleeding Red into the morning that never came. They had faded away because of the hushed little promise between them and him. He had exposed them to the Darkness, he had exposed them to their Destiny and never even dared to think of what may come if he went on that Journey, the Journey of Away. They collapsed into him in the Red hidden in the Darkness. And he collapsed with them_...," Callen reads out.

"Those are some very dark thoughts for a boy that age... despite the beauty of the words he found to express them," Hetty sighs.

"... I think that's an understatement. I mean... that boy's him. And here we have features like secrets and blood and death... and some debt he owes to someone he cares about... a.. death he blames himself for... lost hope... resignation... that's some heavy shit. And it coincides with the time there was this shootout at home. Did you find anything on that?" Callen concludes.

"God forbid. No one's ever heard about that," Sam snorts.

"And no one's bothered once he didn't show up anymore?" Callen asks, though he already knows the answer Sam provides: "The principal shrugged and said that she thought they moved away."

"She _thought_?" Callen grimaces. Really, if people just stopped assuming things... that would make life so much easier.

"Well, she said that she didn't give too much on it. The school's not that caring about the matter. They just don't want any trouble," Kensi mutters.

"Yeah, that's just great," Callen sighs.

"We tried to talk to some students, but all said that he never made any friends. He was always nice and never impolite to people, mostly. Other than that he was very reserved," Kensi adds. And that does fit what they saw of him until now. He can go all the way from silent, to witty, to flipping-out.

"There's just one thing all students agreed to. He got into fights here and there," Sam adds.

"Any certain reason?" Callen asks.

"He only jumped into action when he saw the jocks picking up on the smaller ones or those who couldn't defend themselves. He'd take on three or five at a time," Sam smirks, still impressed.

"So he has a high sense of justice and wants to protect people," Callen concludes. Again, fits the picture.

"Yup, oh, and he actually won most of the fights," Sam snickers.

"Well, after he turned eleven, he just disappeared and no one's bothered about him since. The students said that none of them ever was over at his place. He walked home from school and never took the bus for some reason. Most of them suspected that his family was simply poor and couldn't afford it or so, even if that's not making much sense because that's in the taxes," Kensi shakes her head.

"So we got pretty much _nothing_...," Callen runs a hand over his face.

"Pretty much," Sam shrugs.

"Mr. Callen, did you make any progress to figuring out this very mystery?" Hetty questions.

"No, I tried, but after he over-read my phone call with Eric it got worse. Now he's not talking to me other than... _small talk_, if you can call it like that. He is just distant and... only asks and answers questions if necessary. Which is why I'd ask you to remove me from the task as his protection detail. I don't think I'll get through to him," Callen explains. Really, Sam should take over, or Kensi, just someone who doesn't make him freak all the while.

"Mr. Callen, you're not the one to give up that easily. What is it about this young man that you think you will fail in helping him?" Hetty frowns incredulously.

"I don't know where to grab him, metaphorically. Whenever I ask him something, it's as thought I tear open yet another wound. I don't know how to interact with him," Callen admits. There is no sense in keeping that a secret. That boy is drifting away from him, if he doesn't piss him off. That is more than counterproductive. It's shit.

"Then I would think you didn't try hard enough yet," Hetty shakes her head.

"Why do you insist on it that I work with him?" Callen grunts. Really, where is the point?!

"Because it's stability that he needs. If we just hand him through the agents and see who might fit best, we will get nothing but his mistrust. We need him to trust us to tell us who murdered Mr. Carter. And the immediacy should be obvious even to you, Mr. Callen," Hetty explains, now her voice a bit more forceful.

"I'm aware of that, Hetty," Callen sighs, really, he knows, but this isn't getting them anywhere.

"Then you see the necessity that you do anything within your powers to gain that trust," Hetty insists.

"I don't know if this is gonna work," Callen shakes his head.

"Well, now... I would like to talk to him, while you're present," Hetty suggests.

"Okay, you're the boss," Callen shrugs. It's not like he could say anything against it. Or well, he could, but then he would probably get the speech about him being killed by the paper knife.

"Exactly. So, if you would be so kind," Hetty gesticulates for him to go ahead.

"Of course," Callen exhales, before walking back in, Hetty short up behind him. The teenager sits up as he sees the new face. Hetty smirks as she walks in.

"This is Hetty Lange, my boss," Callen introduces her. Hetty walks up to him, still offering one of the nicest smiles she has, if not the nicest smile she has (with Hetty you never know).

"It's a pleasure. Mr. Deeks, correct?" she greets him.

"Uhm, yeah, thanks, pleasure," he replies politely.

"So, Mr. Deeks, how are you?" Hetty asks.

"Good, thank you," Marty nods.

"Well, you gave us a scare back at the NCIS," she smiles warmly.

"So I got told," Marty grimaces, looking at Callen briefly. Hetty smirks.

"Ma'am?" he asks after a while. She turns her head, "Yes?"

"Can I ask a question?" he asks hesitantly.

"Of course, just go ahead," she encourages him.

"You're the boss, like... you handle the business, yeah?" Marty questions.

"In fact," she nods.

"Well, uhm... there might be a problem with the hospital and all," Marty admits with growing discomfort.

"Why is that?" Hetty asks. He moves closer, "I don't have insurance. So I can only pay for minimum treatment, you see?"

Hetty smiles at him warmly, "Mr. Deeks, that is nothing you have to worry about. The NCIS is taking care of it."

"But, uhm, I mean, I don't want to like... talk back... but... what got me here I didn't get in your interrogation room, so this isn't your... _responsibility_. I got that injury somewhere else and it got infected," he admits, biting his lower lip.

"I'm aware of that, Mr. Deeks, though I find it quite noble of you to admit that," Hetty nods in appreciation.

"I just want to be straight with people if I can help it somehow," Marty shrugs.

"And I appreciate that, but I can only assure you that it remains the same. We cover up for the expenses. That is no bother, really," Hetty assures.

"Thank you," he replies honestly, relief washing over his face. One less thing to worry about.

"You are welcome," she smirks.

"So, uh, what exactly am I supposed to do for that?" Marty asks. She frowns, "Pardon?"

"Well, you... you give me something, I give you something in return. Isn't that the way you guys work?" Marty frowns.

"Mr. Deeks, we are here to help you. If you want to share something with us because you think it might help us catch the person who shot Mr. Carter, then we will hear you, but because we pay for your medical attention you don't have to tell us anything," she informs him.

"Aha... well, then maybe you're different from the cops after all," Marty sighs, blinking.

"What do you mean, Mr. Deeks?" she frowns.

"Just that... with the ones I got to know it only goes this way. You give them something in return for a favor," Marty explains.

"We do not work like that, no," Hetty assures. Well, they do, sometimes, but that shouldn't be of concern now.

"Aha," Marty exhales, glancing at the bed sheets again.

"Very well. I think Mr. Callen informed you about the plan?" Hetty questions, the boy nods, "That he's playing bodyguard until this is cleared, yeah."

"Good. So is there anything you need, Mr. Deeks? Feel free to ask," Hetty offers. He hesitates: "I..."

"Just ask," she encourages him.

"Do you have my stuff? I don't know where my stuff is," he glances at her with brightly blue eyes, biting his lower lip.

"You mean your belongings we found with you?" Hetty asks. The boy nods.

"Mr. Callen?" Hetty turns to the Senior Agent.

"I can go get them. I think the doctors took them when you came in. Or did the police take something from you?" Callen offers. Marty shakes his head.

"Okay, I'll go ask. I'll be right back," Callen nods, before heading out. Hetty stays by Marty's side.

"Don't you have better to do than watching over some runaway child?" Marty smiles faintly.

"As of now, I don't," Hetty smirks.

"No offense, but your agency seems rather weird," Marty chuckles softly.

"We are _special_, as I like to call it," Hetty grins.

"Well, I think my protection detail is glad he can get the hell outta here, so, that's nice of you, for him," he nods. Hetty frowns, "Why do you think that?"

"I just know when someone's uncomfortable around me," the kid shrugs.

"I can assure you that Mr. Callen bears no dislike towards you," Hetty shakes her head.

"I don't say that. I just say that he's uncomfortable around me. And is not that I mind or whatever. I get it," Marty shrugs. He'd be uncomfortable around himself, too.

"Why would you think that?" She asks again.

"People are weird around me anyways, coz of... my _living condition_ as of late. It's something people don't want to get in touch with. I figure it's natural... especially once ugh, my current _profession_ becomes an issue. People really don't want to touch that topic if they can help it," Marty shakes his head, holding on to the edge of the bed sheet a little tighter.

"Well, it's something we would rather remove from the world entirely," Hetty admits.

"Yeah, still... state of affairs is... that it is reality, it's so real that it hurts. But people don't wanna see it. If you squint just hard enough, you don't see it, I guess," Marty shrugs defeated. Really, no one wants to know the truth. No one.

"Sadly true," she sighs.

"But I understand that. I mean, that people want to forget that or at least try to. I would do the same. Who wants to think about that, really? No one wants to be in it, or even remotely close," Marty sighs heavily. She can only agree to that, "True."

"And your Mr. Callen is seemingly coming not from the best conditions himself, so this is probably some kinda _revival_ for him, which is why he doesn't want to be around me much. As I said, just figures to me," she smirks sadly.

"Why do you think Mr. Callen had a troubled past?" Hetty frowns.

"Is the way he acts, I don't know. Let's just say I got a radar for that. I just know that... or maybe I am just that lucky or unlucky to run into troubled people. Same with... the other woman... uh... Kensi?" Marty licks his lips.

"Kensi Blye, right." Hetty nods.

"Knew that she had something in her past even before she's mentioned it to get me talking," he grins with a huff. The short woman smirks to herself, not only at his obvious talent to read people, but also at his sharpness to see right through their intentions back in the interrogation – namely that they wanted to get him talking by offering a personal story.

"Well, that is some miraculous weapon you have then, this radar of yours," Hetty snickers.

"I consider it my little curse," Marty snorts.

"How is that?" she frowns.

"Coz that always makes me feel pity and empathy for people," the boy sighs.

"But isn't that a good thing?" Hetty grimaces.

"Under normal circumstances, sure, but as for me... in my world, the guy who shows pity is the one to get killed. You have to be tough, and if you wanna survive, you have to put yourself first. But thanks to this," he knocks against his forehead, "I often end up pitying people and feeling with them and their oh so sad story. I mean, of course, I don't know any details, but I already pity them for the fact that they probably come from a rough background. I mean... I even pity those two. And they have a job and guns and houses or apartments and regular payment. I shouldn't be pitying them when actually I'm in the shit, don't you think?"

"Well, I see your trouble, Mr. Deeks, but to me... this is ever so noble," Hetty returns.

"_Noble_? That sounds funny when connected to a street kid," Marty snorts.

"To feel with people no matter one's own situation is noble, Mr. Deeks, no matter how you put it," Hetty insists credibly.

"... thanks for the compliment, I suppose. I mean, if you find my little _radar_ a good thing, then... good for you," he shrugs with a smirk. Really, those guys are odd people.

"And what about me?" she questions.

_"You?"_ Marty grimaces.

"What do you see in my past?" Hetty smiles.

"You are honestly asking me?" Marty cocks an eyebrow at her.

"Well, if you have such a magical radar, it'd be a pleasure to see for myself," she snickers.

"Seriously?" Marty questions suspiciously.

_"Absolutely,"_ she assures. Marty turns slightly to be face-to-face with the petite woman. His glance is really intense, Hetty notes.

"Well, I wouldn't say _troubled_ past, but you... you've seen a lot, as in... a whole lot, worth five lives. Surely came around the globe, eh?" he smirks. So she nods, "You could say so."

"And you're mysterious, that's for sure. That means you have your secrets deep down in store... but you're good at keeping them at bay so they don't resurface. Speaks for mental stability and self-consciousness, I guess. Yeah, _definitely_ mysterious. That's what makes you scary to Mr. Callen at least," Marty chuckles.

_"Scary?"_ she repeats playfully.

"You just have to look at him and he jumps into action. And that doesn't have to do only with the fact that you're his boss," Marty smirks. Hetty grins to herself.

"But... you seem caring. Your past has shown you that you have to hold on to such things," Marty carries on with his little analysis.

"What things?" she questions.

"People," Marty replies simply. Hetty can't hide another smirk forming on her lips. If only the bugger knew half the truth and how close he might be on some of it.

"A very refined radar you have, Mr. Deeks, make sure you keep it polished and on target," she winks at him.

"What for?" he frowns incredulously.

"That, Mr. Deeks, is a talent that no one can teach. The art of reading people enables us to see the greater pictures. This is a power," Hetty explains. Marty smirks, easing back down a bit.

"So you all mean that with me not having to go to prison?" he asks in a hushed voice.

"Well, Mr. Deeks, you were seemingly in a situation where you saw no other way but to get away from... Mr. Carter... by any means. Even if it'd still be very considerate of you to tell us why exactly you said that you murdered him, because that is confusing all of us," Hetty admits. Callen comes in with the bag. He walks up to Marty and hands it to him. Marty's eyes solely focus on him as he speaks, "... I thought I killed him. I thought that after I stabbed him... that he died... and when I heard the shots, I thought that someone just hated him enough to kill him another time, to be sure."

"But you didn't kill him with the knife. The bullets killed him," Callen assures.

"I didn't know," he shakes his head. He was just too creeped out of his pants to bother to care. Marty shakes off the dark thoughts as he opens the bag Callen hands him to retrieve his things.

"So did you see the person who's killed him?" Callen asks.

"... Viper," Marty bites his lower lip.

_"Viper?"_ Callen frowns.

"Dunno his real name," he shrugs.

"Who is he?" Callen questions.

"... the one you call for the dirty jobs," Marty snorts.

"What _dirty jobs_?" Callen asks further.

"Whatever brings best money. Deals with drugs... robs some shops here and there... ships things to... Mexico or whatever... gathers the children if they run off...," Marty exhales, but Callen interrupts him, "You mean he works with the prostitution rings to bring back the runaways?"

"Sometimes. Not always. Depends if they pay... and how much... and if they want them back alive," Marty drops, not even making a face.

"Weren't you afraid he'd come get you? Because you didn't run away far," Callen questions, trying to take his mind off of that all too dark corner no one wants to touch, really no one.

"He didn't see me. I was already behind the dumpsters. I... he just shot him... must've been the job, thinking about it," Marty mutters.

"Do you know what he looks like?" Callen asks, to which the teen huffs, "Sure."

"Think you could give that information to an artist to draw an identikit?" Callen suggests.

"... I guess," the boy shrugs.

"Good, thank you," Callen nods.

"... not for that," he frowns. That is the first time a federal agent whatsoever thanked him, really thanked him. This is too weird to be true. Hetty coughs lightly to get attention, "Mr. Deeks? It was a pleasure to meet you. I will now tell the team about the latest findings. Mr. Callen, would you walk me, please?"

"Of course," Callen nods, "I'll be right back."

The two walk outside. "Well, that came unexpected. Whatever you did, you did it right, Hetty," Callen exhales once they are out of eavesdrop.

"Oh, I did nothing, Mr. Callen. You should have realized that Mr. Deeks _only_ started to talk about the incident once _you_ came in. And his eyes were solely on you," Hetty shakes her head.

"Did you tell him something about my past or what?" Callen frowns.

"Oh, Mr. Deeks knew about that all along," Hetty smirks. Callen's frown only deepens, "I never said anything about it. I thought about mentioning the foster homes before the interrogation, but it never came to it."

"He has a fine sense for that," she smiles.

"... I still don't get it what got him into talking," Callen shakes his head.

"You, Mr. Callen. Easy as that," Hetty replies. Really, G Callen is one of the best agents the NCIS has ever seen, but sometimes... simply a stupid man.

"Before, he didn't even talk to me coz he was pissed," Callen argues.

"But now he talked. Mr. Callen. You have to keep in mind that Mr. Deeks is going through tremendously much pain and confusion. Of course his emotions and reactions are not always well-balanced. And far more importantly, we have to look ahead, not into the past. He talks now, that's what matters, not that he refused to minutes ago," Hetty reminds him. Callen nods, "Yeah, might be."

"So, Mr. Callen will stay here with Mr. Deeks while we search for the ominous shooter by name _Viper..._ such a stupid name. I called Mr. Getz, but he is not available at the moment, for he is on an assignment in England. He will catch up with us as soon as he is finished. Mr. Hanna, Ms. Blye?" she gesticulates at the other two agents. Kensi and Sam nod. After that, the three take off again, leaving Callen to deal with his problem, again. He takes a deep breath, shaking out his limbs, repeating it inside his head again and again: "_This is a job. Keep a professional distance. Get the job done_."

With that he walks back inside.


	4. The (Un-) Lucky One

Author's Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing my story. You guys make me soooo happy! As a warning, we are now getting to the (first) bottom of things, the sex ring. So this will be dark-er chapter again, though nothing explicit, really. I want to add that I don't want to degrade the police or whatever and say that everyone's corrupt, it's just that, for my story, some people have to play the bad guys, so... police officers out there, don't feel offended, please ;)  
Okay, so, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter also. Read and review as you like it ;)

* * *

Callen lets out a sigh. This teenager is giving him headaches. There is just so much wrong about him and his life... and so much G finds likable, really, earnestly likable about the kid. And more than anything he'd like to help Marty, but the agent doesn't know how. The Senior Agent gathers himself before he walks back inside. He has to hide a smile when he looks at the tray to find out that Marty actually ate. So he didn't eat of it because he was afraid he'd have to cover up for the expenses.

"Hey there," Callen greets him with a smirk.

"Your boss didn't let you go?" Marty smirks back.

"Nope," Callen shrugs. The teenager huffs at that.

"So... you gave us quite some information... I guess is my turn now to maybe answer some of your questions, if you have any," Callen suggests.

"Seriously?" Marty cocks an eyebrow at him.

"You can ask whatever you want," Callen offers. Marty considers for a couple of second, but then all cheerfulness suddenly vanishes from his face, "... just when I can get out of this whole... _situation._ I gotta go back."

"To where?" Callen blinks. He really didn't see that one coming.

"Where I gotta be," Marty mutters in a low voice, determination bubbling up inside of him.

"... You mean the sex ring? You want to go _back_?" Callen exclaims. That can't be true, can it?

"... yeah, right, need the action... and the whole fun," the boy retorts.

"You.. you don't want to get back there, Marty. It's luck that you got out," Callen shakes his head. This boy can't be serious.

_"Luck,_ yeah, right... no, I gotta get back. I got things to do," Marty replies, not wavering.

"What things?" Callen questions.

"That is nothing I have to share with you, I know that much 'bout the law," Marty retorts, anger flaring his voice.

"What do you want to do there?" Callen questions.

"I just gotta get back," Marty hisses through gritted teeth.

"For what?" Callen insists.

"Coz I'm the lucky one here," Marty exhales shakily.

"What does that mean?" Callen asks.

"... there's still fifteen out there. And they are smaller than me. They... I gotta take care of them," Marty bites his lower lip, bowing his head.

"So whatcha plan to do? Go back to the ring and make a try to get them out? As a single person? A teenager? You really think you can pull that?" Callen questions disbelieving.

"I don't say that," Marty mutters, his blond curls falling over his eyes.

"Okay, I know you don't say that coz of charges. But you actually believe it's possible that you, as a one-man-show, can manage to overthrow an entire team, a network?" Callen spells it out in the hope to make Marty realize that the answer should be "no".

"Those are some SOB's who got no better to do than hunt kid's ass," Marty grunts.

"So?" Callen frowns.

"Someone who does that can't be very smart, don't you think?" Marty bites his lip.

"What do you want to do?" Callen questions.

"Whatever's needed," Marty says, staring ahead.

"So what? Get yourself a gun and make this a shootout? Kill all those men?" Callen asks.

"Those men sell little children as friggin' sex slaves to godforsaken bastards who can't get a hard one coz of their prude wives! Those bastards sell little children for less than two hundred, two hundred to destroy their lives over and over again!" Marty curses, his voice choked in tears.

"Right, which is why it'd be best if you told us where to look for them so that we can take care of them," Callen tries to convince the teenager.

"Yeah, right as if! When we ask for help, the departments argue 'bout whose responsibility it is just to turn up empty and then it's forgotten all over – and the bastards are gone some other place. No, that ain't happening, never again," Marty chokes out. He let that happen once, he trusted once. He won't make that mistake ever again. _Never!_

"You asked for help before?" Callen asks.

"Whatcha think? But no one listens to a cheeky boy. They just said that I'm a prostitute myself who got thrown out of the brothel. No one believed me. No one cared," Marty turns his head to the side.

"But we care," Callen assure.

"You're NCIS, note the _N_ in the title. For as long as there's no Marine as the leader of the prostitution ring, you got nothing to do with it. And trust me, there ain't," Marty retorts.

"We got a dead Marine who was their customer," Callen argues, and it comes out easier this time. Even though it's hard to believe for him that a soldier does that... he believes Marty.

"Who wasn't shot by the ring itself, but by someone who does odd jobs," Marty argues. Really, that kid is smarter than people may give him credit for.

"After he took advantage of a boy who came from that prostitution ring," Callen returns.

"And what does that change now?" Marty exhales, feeling tired.

"If you tell us where to look, we can get those kids out," Callen assures.

"They smell cops and agents ten miles against the wind. If you try to take them up, they'll be gone, and the kids with them," Marty argues harshly.

"And you think if you go alone, it's gonna end better?" Callen returns.

"If I go in there, they won't know a thing. I can just say that I had to run from police or whatever. They don't ask questions for as long as the purchase returns. And then I take care of it and get the kids out," Marty grunts.

"Marty, you won't manage. And we won't let you," Callen argues in a strong voice.

"So you just let the kids die out there? Seriously? Is that what you vowed when you said you'd serve the country?" Marty huffs sadly.

"No, but I vowed to protect every single person under my care. You're under my care. So I can't and won't let you walk back in there," Callen argues vehemently.

"You vowed to protect people. You let fifteen down for one? That's no good bargain," Marty snorts, his breath hitched.

"I don't say I let them down. I just say that I won't let you walk back in there. You tell us where to look, we get them out," Callen returns.

"No, it doesn't work like that. I'm responsible for those kids. No one else," Marty mutters, calling them back to mind, each one of them, their faces, their tears, their voices. They ar his responsibility. He will keep his promise. He has to.

"You're not responsible for them. You're also a victim, Marty," Callen shakes his head.

"I don't care for what I am. I was the oldest of the bunch, that makes me responsible for them. I said I'd get them out. And I almost had it this one time, but then...," he starts, but his voice gets choked by dread.

"Then what?" Callen asks softly. Marty takes a couple of seconds to regain his composure before he brings it out in a shaky voice, "I almost had them there. I... had snatched the keys from one of the guards and... But... one of the kids hesitated and started to cry and that's when they knew it. They threatened to kill him... so I let it go."

He sucks in a deep breath before he continues, "Before, I could get the bastards angry at me enough so that they'd give _me_ the shit-jobs... but now I'm not around to take the job and protect the kids from the worst shit. They are even more vulnerable now. It won't last for long, so you gotta let me go back to get them out."

"No, Marty," Callen shakes his head.

"I have to get them out!" Marty curses, tears standing in his eyes.

"I agree with you, but you gotta let us handle it," Callen insists.

"What's the difference between _you_ shooting them and _me_ shooting them?! They'll hopefully be dead either way! What's the difference?!" Marty curses. Why can't he take care of scum also? Why can't he be in charge for once?! Why can't be protect what is dear to him!?

"If you do that, you'll have murder on your card and you won't ever see the outside of a prison again. If we do it...," Callen explains, but Marty interrupts him, "It's a mission and you get a fuckin' _medal_ for it! But what's the difference?! What does it matter that you kill them or I kill them?! They kill children! Again and again and again! And it's right to get them thrown into prison or killed! It's coz they deserve it! What's the fuckin' difference?! What makes it right when you do it and wrong when I do it?!"

His breath hitches. Marty clutches at his chest, suddenly feeling a hot pain in his skull that suffocates him. Callen grabs him by the forearm, "Marty, now calm down. You're not supposed to get upset with your fever."

"I give a shit on that fuckin' fever! You gotta let me get them!" Marty brings out. He suddenly fidgets for his IV line. Callen holds on to him, hoping he doesn't do too much damage with that.

"Get the doctor in here! Marty, now calm down, I beg you," Callen curses. This is bad! _So_ fuckin' bad!

"I knew it was a mistake. It was a mistake all along. It was a mistake," Marty mutters feverishly.

"Marty, hey, hey, let it go. We can take care of it," Callen tries to soothe him, but Marty just yells out at him, "No!"

Nurses and the doctor rush in. The nurses help Callen with holding Marty down while the doctor prepares an injection. Marty struggles more and more, despite the pressure on his limbs and chest, against the pain, against everything. The doctor finally injects the liquid and after a few seconds Marty's features sag together. The nurses let go of him, only Callen holds on to his arm, rubbing it soothingly, "It's gonna be okay, Marty. It's gonna be okay. We'll fix this."

With that the teenager drifts off. The doctor checks his vitals.

"How is he?" Callen asks, still coming down from the shock.

"We gave him a sedative... his temperature is normal. Stitches are holding. He's fine," the doctor assures. Callen lets a sigh of relief, "Thank god."

Really, the last thing they needed is him getting even worse.

"I think it might be good to restrain him. He might hurt himself or others," the doctor grimaces.

"No, please... he... he was just very upset about something. He's not dangerous. I stay with him, so you don't have to restrain him," Callen pleads. He can't imagine that Marty would take that. And the boy has had enough. To wake up restrained... no. If they can spare him that, they should.

"If he gets that upset again, we might have to," the doctor argues.

"I'll make sure it won't happen again," Callen assures quickly.

"Okay... well, he'll be out of it for at least half an hour," the doctor sighs. Callen almost beams at him, "Alright, thank you."

The doctor nods as he walks off. Callen claps Marty on the lower arm affectionately before he goes outside also, to call Hetty. This won't be fun.

"Hetty?" Callen says.

"Mr. Callen, I didn't expect you to call back that fast," Hetty frowns. Callen licks his lips, "Well, things got outta hand."

"Please tell me that this is not because of you. I thought you were fine," Hetty exhales.

"Well, kinda," Callen admits, squinting his eyes. Yeah... he did do it again.

"Mr. Callen," Hetty heaves a sigh.

"He opened up to me about his time in the prostitution ring some. And he said that there was more kids. I told him that we can take care of it, but that really upset him. He wanted to get back on the road to handle business himself. I told him that he can't do it all alone... and this is when he got really upset and wanted to get away. The doctor had to sedate him," Callen explains.

"How many children are we talking about?" Hetty asks, trying to keep her voice leveled, though the venom is clear.

"He said fifteen... and that they are all younger than him, which is why he feels so responsible for them," Callen informs her.

"Did he tell you about the location?" Hetty questions.

"No, he's determined to do this alone. Hetty, you gotta tell me what I can do and can't do. What can I give him so that he cooperates?" Callen asks almost pleadingly.

"He is the only one who can give us the place. And even if he may not be right about most things, he is right about that one thing – and that is that we have to act fast if we want to save those children," Hetty says.

"So anything goes," Callen grimaces.

"Pretty much," Hetty nods.

"... wait, he's coming back around... the hell? Doctor said he should be out of it for at least half an hour," Callen speaks hastily as he sees Marty stirring awake.

"He seemingly has a great metabolism. Go talk to him. I will have the team informed and ready for when Mr. Deeks give you the vital information," Hetty says.

"Okay, thanks," Callen nods, his mind already back on the kid as he hangs up. G quickly makes his way back into the room and settles down next to Marty. The teenager blinks at him blearily.

"They sedated me, didn't they?" Marty grunts as he sits back up, groggily rubbing his eyes.

"You got really upset and we feared your fever would just climb again," Callen bites his lower lip. Marty nods lazily, "Makes sense... ugh, that stuff's good."

"Normally it's supposed to knock you out for more than half an hour, at least," Callen informs him, to which Marty shrugs, "Well, I know from the medical perspective that this ain't possible, but if you gotta fear for someone to come grab you in your sleep, you wake up the fastest you can, even with the sleepy pills."

"Well, since you're still on the droopy lane, I will ask you another time: Where are the kids?" Callen suggests. He would rather cut Marty a break, but the kids are in danger. They have to move, now.

"Might be droopy, but not stupid," Marty mutters. He could be on the verge of unconsciousness and wouldn't fall for a trap like that.

"Then you should get that fooling around is not getting us anywhere," Callen insists.

"Sure," Marty shrugs.

"So, where are the kids?" Callen asks again.

"I was honest to you. You won't find them if I just give you the address," Marty explains, calmer now, but still with the same kind of resolution in his features.

"Why?" Callen questions.

"Because the gang pays people to watch the streets for them. They are gone when their informant five blocks over sees a police car heading their direction," Marty snorts.

"Then what?" Callen frowns.

"You need me to get to the kids, easy as that," Marty shrugs.

"What do you mean to say?" Callen grimaces, still not getting it.

"There's a Big Sale going on tonight. And they are still looking for customers. I can bring you in. You can get them out. That's the only way this can possibly work with you guys together. Otherwise I just go back for the Big Sale, alone," Marty proclaims.

"That is way too dangerous," Callen shakes his head.

"Only way to buy you a ticket in," Marty mutters.

"You really think they buy it that you just miraculously bring in some new customers? After your last one was murdered?" Callen questions.

"That those guys get blown is not too uncommon. Never happened with mine before, but... you hear it from time to time. And that I bring them new customers... I did that before. Whatcha think is the reason they didn't shoot me dead yet, though I tried to escape with all the kids and taunt them all the while? Coz normally that's what they shoot first. It's coz I'm the one to bring them fresh wallets," Marty explains gloomily.

"It's still too dangerous," Callen insists.

"It has to happen tonight. The kids who don't sell...," Marty bites his lower lip as he gesticulates a finger over his throat.

"You... mean that," Callen gapes.

"I'm deadly serious. It's gonna happen either way, believe me. If you guys don't act, I will. And without me, you won't get the place, so it's either that you cooperate with me or you got nothing to do with it. It's not even against you guys. You seem like fine people, but I've been shitted around with departments long enough. This one time, I'm making the rules," Marty declares.

"This might cost you your life," Callen argues.

"It might cost the lives of those _fifteen_ kids if I don't do anything," Marty shakes his head.

"It may also mean that they just take you back and flee," Callen returns. Marty turns to face him, his face stoic, eyes shining with pure determination: "I take that risk. Do you take it?"

"Kid, this ain't some kinda challenge," Callen shakes his head.

"This is no challenge. This is too important to me to make it a game. I'm asking you, _honestly._ Do you take that risk, yes or no?" Marty asks, his voice ever so confident.

"I would if I got the clearance," Callen nods.

"Then you better get it. Or otherwise I'll just jump out the window. Second story is not all too bad, and there are brushes underneath to cushion the fall. I'm getting them out, that's final," Marty snorts. And Callen knows that he will do anything to get there, even if it may cost Marty his own life.

"This is insane," Callen sighs, leaning his head back.

"Yeah, you tell me," Marty snorts, "So? In or out?"

"Lemme make some calls."


	5. The Big Scale Sale - Interrupted

Author's Note: Okay, so now... real deal. Violence and some bad words are about to come, don't like, don't read... or well, still read, maybe you like it once you read it? Either way, thanks for the great support, you are very motivating, my dear readers and reviewers. Hope you'll enjoy. Read and/or review, just do what you like ;)

* * *

Later the day:

Callen find himself in a car with Kensi and Sam... and Marty, whom he is still helping with the Kevlar vest G insisted on the kid is supposed to wear underneath the big jacket he wears.

"You gotta go right by the corner," Marty instructs Kensi. She winks at him through the rear mirror: "Alright."

"Take me through it another time," Callen demands. Marty glances at him before he starts running down the list: "I take you to the Sales House. I say that you're customers I picked up after my other customer got shot by Viper, for whatever the reason that was now. You're a guy from Russia who is trying to see his version of the American Dream. He is middle class businessman who needs some action away from his prudent wife. Good pay, no questions. You give them a thousand for their expenses in advance, and another thousand because you want to see all of them, not just the selection. If they don't take the catch right away, you raise by another thousand. We go in. They'll bring you to the Show Room where the kids will be presented to the mob of SOB's. In the room will only be the man for the numbers, the Calculator, the Pusher, whose task is to bring the children in position or force them onstage, and the Boss. The security is positioned outside the door. Your best chance to take out the boss. Three to two given their lousy experience... should be easy game. The security as well as all others will have to come through that door, because there is just one, so you just gotta wait for them to come through. Then no problem. Once the second round of security is through, the SWAT can come in. The kids will be rescued and this shit is maybe no longer the complete shit of shits ever produced in world history."

"What do you do once we are in?" Callen asks.

"I don't mess with them, don't draw attention to me at any point. I just say what I gotta say not to appear suspicious. It's either gonna be that they put me on sale right away, which means I'll be upstage with the children or I sit by you, if you get it through that you want me right from the beginning. I'll try to take a spot furthest away from the Pusher, unless it seems suspicious that I do so. I don't open my jacket unless I'm asked to. And then I'll show them the white tee without pulling it up, and I keep the jacket on so that they don't see the edges of the vest. When I realize something wrong, I duck away for cover. I don't try to play hero. I let you guys handle it... I don't get a gun," Marty snorts towards the end. He really would like to have one, though.

"That's right," Callen flashes a brief smile.

"You sound like a mini-agent already," Kensi snickers.

"Don't encourage him. He blackmailed us into this anyways," Callen grunts.

"I just say that he's good," Kensi smirks. She winks at him through the rear mirror another time. He winks back.

"Just undermine me, Kensi, great way of thinking," Callen exhales exasperated.

"What? I just say that I'd probably do the same thing to get my will," Kensi shrugs. She really gets it. She'd go great lengths to accomplish her goals, especially if they hit close to home.

"As I said, just don't encourage him," Callen snorts. Sam turns to Marty: "And remember to stick close to us. In case we get blown, we can cover you."

"Cash that," Marty nods. Callen quickly puts his hand on Marty's forehead.

"Let's hope your fever doesn't spike again," Callen grimaces.

"They gave me all the funny pills to prevent that," Marty snorts.

"And the doctor was very much against it that you took off. He wanted to keep you for at least another day," Callen argues vehemently. Really, since when is he getting blackmailed by children?!

"Yeah, great thing if an agent is on your side," Marty snorts, catching himself saying that for the first time... and meaning it.

"I was not the biggest fan of this," Callen snorts.

"Which is why your boss called in. I knew that she gets anyone into anything," Marty snickers.

"You can count yourself lucky that she's in your favor at that point," Sam shakes his head.

"Don't want that Lady to be my enemy, no," Marty smirks.

"Got that right," Sam exhales.

"You gotta turn over there. You may wanna park the car a little away. They don't like to see big cars out front. Draws unwanted attention to the Sales House," Marty says, now totally sober.

"Got it," Kensi nods. She brings the car to a halt where Marty tells her to. Callen, Sam and Marty exit.

"Okay, you coordinate the SWAT, Kensi. You know what to do," Callen orders.

"Sure as hell. You can count on me," Kensi nods.

"Alright... let's do this," Callen sighs. Marty doesn't waste another second, but walks ahead.

"He's boss," Sam grins.

"Shut up," Callen mutters. The two walk after the kid, still trying to brace themselves for what is to come – the jobs no agent wants to take, the ones about children _and_ prostitution. The agents have to grimace at the change of Marty's posture as he approaches the building which is supposedly the Sales House. He is actually walking confidently, as though he is... _home_. And that is, more than anything, a disturbing thought. The teenager approaches a shabby house, far away from streets, far away from anyone to hear the screams, the cries. The three reach the building. Marty walks up to the door and knocks a rhythm, probably the password. After some rumbling from the other side, the door opens a bit.

"Who's there?" the guard calls out.

"Seven. Bringin' two customers for sale," Marty replies.

"Thought you've had an 83," the guard snorts. Marty flashes a cocky smile at the man: "Was more of a 62, but I handled the situation. And snatched this here..."

He fingers for some crumpled bills he slides through the door. The guard takes them. The door opens completely to show a muscle man par excellence.

"Mr. Warsaw, Mr. California," Marty introduces Callen and Sam.

"Huh, might be the Boss won't be that pleased," the guard laughs drily. Marty doesn't seem impressed, though: "He wants dibs. That's what those guys have, plenty of. And I don't think Boss will be pleased of ya turnin' down perhaps the best-selling customers he's ever gonna see."

There is a moment of silence. The guardian is checking his phone before he turns to Marty again.

"Well, Boss wants to see you... and your customers," the guard grimaces. Marty nods: "Good."

He walks inside, Callen and Sam follow him with stoic faces. They make their ways through a labyrinth of dark and murky hallways. This really looks like something a bad horror movie threw up in a trash can. Marty still takes the lead, not going wrong just once. He was way too long in here anyways, that much is for sure. Eventually they reach another door, which is open. It's dimly lit in green. Marty walks inside, the two follow wordlessly. On a chair, smoking a cigarette, sits a lanky middle age man with suit and golden necklace.

"Boss," Marty nods. The boss smirks at him, before he slaps him across the face. Callen has to fight every fiber of his very being not to simply choke this guy, but if he breaks out of character now, they won't get the kids. So he bites the inside of his cheek as hard as he can.

"That was for running off," the boss hisses. Marty takes a deep breath, opens his eyes, and then speaks in a leveled voice: "I did not run off far, just away from police. And that's..."

He slaps the boy again: "That's for talking back."

"... And that's when I ran into those two. They were so kind to hide me from police. And that's when I learned that they were looking for your merchandise. Meet Mr. Warsaw and Mr. California," Marty speaks, still in the same leveled voice, though now there is a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Huh, lucky coincidence, then," the boss snorts, not quite buying it.

"Sure, Boss," Marty shrugs. The boss turns his attention to the "customers": "So now... Gentlemen... what can I do for you?"

Callen puts on a smug smirk as he approaches the man.

"Ah, the boy's been talking about you and your little... ugh... what's it called again?" Callen speaks in a perfect Russian accent, turning to Sam.

"Trade Market," Sam provides.

"That's it. That's it. And we'd like to take part in that little... uh...," he grimaces.

"Sale," Sam translates.

"Sale going on tonight, is that correct?" Callen asks. The Boss says nothing to that, just smirks. G doesn't hesitate to give him the first grand. The man smirks, seemingly satisfied for the moment.

"That is correct indeed," the boss smiles.

"And we'd like to take part in that. If there's still seats left," Sam explains, fighting every muscle inside of him to not just behead that guy.

"Oh, the seats don't matter. The question is if you have enough to pay," the boss shrugs. Sam gives him another bundle of bills to make his point.

"I see...," the boss nods, stuffing the bills away.

"And I already made my first choice," Callen nods at Marty.

"Oh, I don't know. I can show you a fine selection. Only the best. You know, with this it might be a bit of pig in a poke," the boss sighs.

"I don't understand what that means," Callen shakes his head. Sam jumps in to translate again: "He thinks that maybe it'd be best to have a look at the others before you make up your mind."

"No, no, I'm absolutely sure. Just my type," Callen insists.

"We have more of that kind," the boss offers.

"I want this one. Is it so hard to understand or is it just my accent?" Callen questions, faking annoyance – because it's friggin' hatred.

"No, no, of course not, Sir," the boss assures quickly.

"How much?" Callen asks.

"How long do you want to keep him?" the boss questions.

"Ah, over the weekend?" Callen shrugs.

"Very well. Free, Grip, Hardy, Chip, Assault or Knockout?"

"What's that? I don't understand the words?" Callen shakes his head. In fact, he just doesn't know what on earth this man is talking about. Sam leans over to him, his eyes on Marty. The boy motions his eyes downwards and that's when he sees Marty signing a two.

"The second," Sam whispers.

"Ah, Grip, yes. Now I understand," Callen smiles.

"Very well, that'd make 1000," the boss nods.

"Ah, great... I'd say... 600 in advance, 400 once the bargain is done?" Callen suggests.

"700, 300, then we're good," the boss nods.

"Alright," Callen smiles.

"So... can I get you something as well or do you share? Because that costs extra," the boss turns to Sam, who replies: "No, I take one of my own, maybe two, and my friend here might also want another one. We'll see what you have."

"As I said, I can show you a very fine selection," the boss assures, but Sam quickly interrupts: "We'd like to see them all."

"I normally don't do that," the boss sighs playfully. Sam takes out a bigger stack of money he holds out to him.

"Does that change your mind?" Sam asks.

"... My customers are kings. So if you would follow me to the Show Room? I'll bring in the merchandise within the next couple of minutes. Of course... for the 700 you may take your prize along already, Mr. Warsaw," the boss winks at him. Callen hands him the next stack of bills. The man stuffs it into his pocket before he opens the Show Room.

"The other customers will be here within the next couple of minutes. You are our first customers today. Please, make yourself comfortable. The show will start little soon," he explains. After he showed them in, the boss closes the heavy metal door. Sam leans over to Marty.

"Is it safe to talk?" Sam whispers.

"Whispering's alright. There's no bugs or mics," Marty nods.

"Good," Sam swallows, trying to calm down.

"What was the deal with the options?" Callen asks.

"That's the way he tests his customers. Undercover cops don't know the code names," Marty shrugs.

"Code names for what?" Callen frowns.

"For the treatment. He makes up a few and mixes them in with the three options he has for real. If you pick the wrong one, he knows you're cop and you get shot in the face," Marty snorts.

"What's Grip?" Callen asks.

"Strangling and beating allowed, no instruments, no serious injury, not dead. For that you gotta pay double and order a Knockout... if you're really big into the game, you order Sweep Out. You pay triple and they make the body disappear for you," Marty replies gloomily, though his mimic doesn't give anything away. The silence is deadly cold. Marty sits there hunched forward, his knee bobbing as he eyes the stage.

"First time I'm on that end of the room," he licks his lips nervously.

"Once this is done, you'll never see that room again," Callen assures. Marty nods, focusing on the stage again.

"When they come in, make sure you mark your territory," he says, not looking at Callen.

"How's that?" the agent frowns. Marty suddenly grabs his arm and puts it on his own thigh.

"Can't give it the buddy-buddy-show. Right now you're Mr. Warsaw, and Mr. Warsaw doesn't want the others to have his toy," Marty explains. Callen has to suck in a couple of deep breaths at that, but then regains focus: "Just a show."

"Just a show," Marty nods. A few minutes later, the door opens and other men come in, or rather SOB's... they are followed by a man fitting the description of the Calculator and the Boss. Callen instinctively grabs Marty's thigh, even if he'd rather do anything but that. Yet, he knows the kid is right. The show must go on, before the final curtain finally falls.

The Boss takes his place in front of the small stage: "Gentlemen, it's a pleasure to have you here tonight for our Big Scale Sale. The rules are still the same, but because we have some new customers, I shall repeat them for you another time. The rules are simple. When we bring in the merchandise, upon special request the entire stock this time, you get to have a look at the material. We will go through them one by one. If you have interest in one of the objects, hold up your hand. If there is more than one customer who is interested in the object, we go into auction. The highest bidder wins. The starter amount is settled by me and me alone and is not disputable. The amount arranged only applies for the Free. Everything else about extra wishes will be settled in private conversation once the Sale is over. Are there any questions? No? Very well, then... let's get the show started."

He walks back to the door, knocks on it three times and goes aside. That is the moment the Pusher comes in with other security and brings the children. All three are mentally counting. It has to be all of them. All of them. It just has to be. Has to. Has to. The door closes... fifteen. It's fifteen! The children are shoved on the stage, all with fright and terror in their eyes. Some of them search Marty's eyes, confused looks. The security men take their spot. The Boss walks upfront again.

"Then shall we make the first bet? This is 75. In good health, naturally blond...," the boss starts to praise his merchandise, but that is when Callen and Sam jump up from their seats.

"NCIS, freeze!" Callen yells, pulling his gun, Sam copying his movement. Sam starts to wrestle with the guards while Callen holds the Boss and the Pusher at bay. Things get kinda hazy when the next wave of security men comes in through the door. Callen moves to bring himself between the children and the bad guys. However, the boss suddenly moves to right – and over to Marty. Callen panics, actually panics, and shoots the man. That is when everything gets out of hand. People shoot, debris flies, children scream as they run for cover. Sam shouts something, Callen turns to his partner, but that is when the Pusher draws his gun as well – and aims it at Callen. He attempts to turn and shoot, but he can only see from the corner of his eye that the man suddenly goes down. Did the SWAT come? However, as he looks down, he sees Marty kicking the Pusher in the shin, blood spilling from god knows where. The weapon falls out of the Pusher's hand as he writhes in pain and Marty kicks it over to Callen. He catches it with his foot, readjusting his aim and shooting another round in Sam's periphery to keep the other men from him. Marty presses his knee into the Pusher's neck with all his might to make sure he stays down, a knife to his throat. That is the moment the SWAT swarms in. The remaining men surrender, quite simply, realizing they are outnumbered. The SWAT starts to cuff the men and shove them out.

"We didn't do anything! Those men shot, not us, we had nothing to do with it!" the customers Kensi's holding cries out. Kensi pushes her knee even harder into his back.

"You agreed to enter a house where they trade those kids. You are in some deep shit, fella. You won't see the light in a while," Kensi grunts into his ear before she shoves him into a standing position to lead him outside: "Move!"

Callen makes his way over to Marty as the Pusher is finally taken care of.

"Are you okay?" Callen asks, still out of breath.

"Yeah," Marty nods absently.

"Hey, look at me," Callen orders. The teenager glances up to the agent.

Marty obeys.

"Are you hurt?" Callen asks.

"No," Marty replies.

"Okay, then what the hell were you thinking? I think we talked about how you're not supposed to play the hero?" Callen breaks out.

"I didn't play the hero. He wanted to gun you, I didn't let him. How's that playing hero?" Marty exclaims. Callen studies the teenager's face. This is not just some witty approach to the orders, to the kid it's seemingly natural that jumping into crossfire for someone, even a grown man like Callen, is anything _but_ heroic. To him it's plainly the right thing to do – and his understanding of the order not to play hero is seemingly completely different from that of... _anyone else_. And even if Callen admires the kid for that kind of compassion and guts, he is howling mad at him for getting himself into danger like that!

"I think I told you to stay outta trouble... and I think we had a word about armor," Callen insists, but Marty snorts: "You said I don't get a gun. I didn't use a gun."

"Great. You used a _knife..._ that changes about _everything_ of course!" Callen throws his hands in the air.

"Great that you see things the same way," Marty retorts. Callen wants to say something else, but that is when he sees that Marty is with his head somewhere else anyways. His eyes are solely resting on the other children who are covered in blankets by the people from the paramedics and the SWAT. They are taken out, leaving the hell, breaking free, finally. Marty walks after them. Callen stands there for a second, staring. Victory never felt as bitter as it does now. Because those children... already lost the fight. Every single one of them. Might be they freed them from the recent torment, but they won't ever take from them what was done to them – and what it will continue to do to them in the future. Hell can be a sneaky thing. It looms around time and strikes again and again and again. Callen is only thrown back into the real world as Sam claps him on the shoulder.

"You alright?" Sam asks tentatively.

"Just thinking. You?" Callen sighs.

"Hm, feel better after I could punch a lot of them in the nose...," Sam manages to smirk. They walk past the stools as suddenly Sam stops and picks something up that is covered in debris. He shakes it off. It's a portfolio. Sam takes a look at it and would just love to throw it away.

"Look at that," Sam grunts through gritted teeth. He hands it over to his partner who flips it open to a random page, just to find Marty's eyes staring at him, fright and anger in his features, cowering on the ground in some cell, mud and blood all over him.

"Sick motherfuckin' bastards," Sam growls.

"Marty's been earnest 'bout that one...," Callen brings out weakly.

"Catalog," Sam shakes his head. Really, what kind of people come up with that? Devils, easy as that. Callen nods, throwing the thing against the wall with all his might. The two agents make their way outside where there is dozens of cars pulling in and out, people passing back and forth. They find Marty leaning against the SUV Kensi came with. Callen walks up to him and leans against the car the same way, sucking in some fresh air.

"... I didn't get to thank you," Callen says, calmer now.

"For what now?" Marty frowns.

"You brought us to the kids. We got them out thanks to you. And... even if I asked you not to, you saved my life in there. If you hadn't kicked him down, the Pusher would've gotten the better of me," Callen has to admit. Marty blinks, confused, but then brings out: "... uh... welcome, I guess."

"Nice kick, by the way," Callen grins. Marty shrugs: "You learn a trick or two when you live in dangerous environment, so to speak."

"Well, never saw someone your age who could kick so precisely that he managed to make the guy bleed from it," Callen argues. Marty lets out a dry laugh.

"What now?" Callen frowns.

"I kicked him with my knife. Of course he bled. That was the point," Marty shakes his head with a grimace.

"How did you kick him with your knife? You had it up to his throat," Callen insists. But that is when Marty slams his right foot with the heel on the ground and suddenly a bloody blade snaps out the front of his boots.

"Whoa. Where did you get that one from?" Callen blinks.

"The boots I fished outta the dumpsters. The knife I snatched one time...," Marty shrugs.

"But this is a whole mechanism," Callen shakes his head.

"Sure, installed that myself. Best way to hide your weapons. They search your pockets, but most of them don't bother 'bout your shoes. And they are likely to give you your shoes when you go outside. Kids without shoes get actually looked at by others. Easy as that," the teenager shrugs.

"Wow," Callen grimaces.

"... what's gonna happen to them?" Marty asks silently.

"The kids?" Callen asks. Marty nods.

"They'll be taken to hospital, will be checked out," Callen says.

"And after that?" Marty questions.

"They'll try to find living relatives. If that doesn't work, they'll be in the foster system," Callen explains. Marty nods silently, still staring at them.

"Do you want to talk to them?" Callen suggests.

"Why would I?" Marty asks.

"Well, I bet a few of them would like to thank you for what you did," Callen frowns.

"That'd only be if we didn't lose three already," Marty licks his lips.

"What do you mean? You said it's fifteen. And we got fifteen," Callen argues, knitting his eyebrows.

"Three were... killed... before I could do anything," Marty admits.

"But that's not your fault, Marty," Callen assures.

"Maybe not, but... they are dead... and I couldn't stop that from happening. Their sibling saw it happen... they'll hate me for this forever," Sam bites his lip.

"Marty, they'll hate those men, but not you," Callen argues.

"I made a promise I couldn't keep... and that's why there's nothing left to be said 'bout it...," Marty shakes his head.

"You might be wrong about that one," Callen says, now with a soft smirk. He nods ahead where Kensi comes with a girl. Marty walks up to her and kneels down. He smiles at her brightly, trying his best to keep the tears out of his voice.

"Hey there, sweety pie. You alright?" Marty greets her. She nods hastily before she wraps her hands around him. Marty is visibly taken aback by the gesture, but eventually returns the embrace. Once she lets go, he kisses her forehead before smiling at her.

"Are you coming with me?" she asks, blinking at him.

"Fear not so, sweety. Got some business to handle, still. You know that I'm a busy guy. Can't stand still even if I try," he winks at her. The girl looks visibly sad.

"Now, now, no time for tears here, sweety, huh? Now you're gonna get back home, remember? Mommy and daddy? They are already waiting for you and probably put up banners and bought the hugest of cakes," Marty soothes her.

"Can't you come with to have cake with me?" she suggests. Marty has to smile: "Honey, as much as I'd love a tea party with you, that is not my place. I have to be elsewhere."

"Why?" she whines.

"You know why, secret missions. I gotta save the world, again," he smirks at her.

"But... but I won't see you again," she cries out.

"What did I tell you?" he starts in a lecturing tone, raising his index finger in front of her face.

"We don't have to see each other to be close?" the girl asks, blinking at him. Marty smiles at her: "That's right. So c'mon."

He stretches out his fist to her.

"Don't let the knuckles get cold," he winks at her. She fist-bumps with him, both letting their hands explode as they go backwards. She giggles at that, but then her lower lip starts to quiver.

"What now, sweety? Huh? No sad faces we agreed," he says in a soothing tone. She sniffles:

"Gunther is gone."

"Gunther? Nah...," he shakes his head. Marty reaches into his pocket to retrieve a small dirty plush duck he hands to the girl, who lightens up at that.

"You saved him!" she claps her hands in joy.

"Course. Everyone needs the Gunther. So you make sure that you stay outta trouble, heart breaker, okay? You be a good girl for me and watch out for Gunther?" he asks. She nods hastily.

"Good, so now, you tell your mommy and daddy hi from me and go with Kensi again, okay?" he smiles softly at her. The girl hugs him another time before she takes Kensi's hand again and both walk off again. Marty runs a quick hand over his face before he stands back up. He kicks some invisible stone before he makes his way back over to Callen.

"I think that was a big thank you," Callen smiles.

"Dunno... I'm just glad that she didn't have... what most of the others had," Marty exhales.

"So she...," Callen grimaces, to which Marty shakes his head: "No, she's had a nasty flu – and then the customers don't take them coz they don't want to catch some disease."

"Well, you got her outta that – before it could come to it," Callen offers.

"And for that I'm more than thankful," Marty sighs. Silence falls.

"Viper was not in the building," Marty drops after a while.

"No," Callen agrees.

"That means...," Marty sighs.

"You're still under our care," Callen completes.

"And what's after that?" Marty asks silently.

"Well, most likely the same that's going on with the other kids, search for living relatives, if there are none... foster system. Or you try to get through that you get emancipation of a minor, so that you're regarded as an adult...," Callen explains. He figures that being honest with Marty is the best of options.

"Think that'll hardly work," Marty grimaces.

"You asked me for the options. It's one of them. If that doesn't work, you'll either be in a foster house or a foster family... what you do once you're eighteen is your decision, then," Callen says.

"Huh," Marty huffs mindfully.

"You'd rather do something else?" Callen asks.

"Dunno. Was in a foster family just once... didn't work out," Marty shakes his head.

"Not all foster families are bad. I've been in that myself," Callen assures. Well, it was shit, but... not all are shit, Callen knows that.

"Sure," Marty snorts.

"I mean that," Callen insists.

"Okay, uhm... we... we didn't get to me giving description for the identikit. Guess I should do that now...," Marty shakes his head, but Callen stops him: "No."

"Huh? You just asked me couple of hours ago," Marty shakes his head.

"Marty, you did enough for a day. Cut yourself some slack, for at least tonight," Callen offers.

"I thought it'd be best for all to get this over with," Marty snorts.

"But we won't catch him tonight, so let it go," Callen says. He motions for the teenager to enter the car. Marty grimaces for a second, before he obeys. The other agents walk up to the car as well, and so all of them climb into the SUV. They drive in silence for a while.

"So you rocked it, little guy?" Kensi snickers, but Callen shushes her: "Shht."

Kensi looks into the rear mirror to see Marty dozing next to Callen. She smirks.

"I bet he was exhausted like hell to begin with," she whispers affectionately.

"Who can blame him?" Sam shakes his head.

"So where we go, Callen? Hospital?" Kensi asks.

"Just drop me off at my apartment," Callen says.

"Yeah, I know, but Marty's...," Kensi rolls her eyes, but Callen interrupts her: "I let him crash over at my place. Is the easiest. I gotta watch him anyways... and I think that he'd rather not be in hospital."

"... okay," Kensi shrugs, but then just goes with it. Soon they reach Callen's apartment.

"Marty?" Callen tries to rouse the boy tentatively. The teenager shakes his head awake.

"Oh... uh... fell asleep... sorry," he rubs a hand over his eyes.

"Nothing to feel sorry 'bout," Kensi smiles at him.

"Uh... where are we?" Marty frowns. Because it doesn't look like hospital.

"My apartment. C'mon," Callen snorts.

"Huh? Aren't I supposed to be in hospital?" Marty frowns.

"You want?" Callen asks.

"Sure as hell not," Marty shakes his head. He hates this place, hates everything about it: the light, the smell, the plastic chairs, the food... just everything.

"Then get your lazy ass outta the car. I'll let you crash over at my place," Callen offers gruffly, figuring that Marty responds better if he is ordered to.

"... okay," Marty frowns.

"So I'll see you guys in the morning. Night, Marty," Kensi waves at him, flashing a warm smile.

"... uh... bye," Marty waves.

"See ya," Sam nods.

"Bye... and... thanks," Marty says, and you know just how much he means the "thanks". With that he exits the car and walks ahead to the buildings.

"See you," Callen nods at his partners. The others nod back as he exits as well and walks up to Marty.

"First time I saw Callen that emotionally involved," Sam grimaces.

"Well, I don't know Marty well, but what I can say is that... I think he has the power to move people that way," Kensi shrugs.

"You might be right about that," Sam sighs.

"Maybe that guy manages what none of us did up to that point," Kensi smirks.

"That G warms up?" Sam grins. Kensi nods as she starts the engine.

"Problem is that this guy's not gonna stay forever," Sam exhales.

"I know," she sighs.

"Might be G opens up, but once the guy leaves... might be he closes up even more," Sam licks his lip, worry in his voice.

"... I know... well, we'll have to see. As of now... might be those two need each other," Kensi shrugs. Not everything has to lead to destruction.

"With you on that one," Sam nods.

Meanwhile Callen walks Marty to his apartment.

"Here we are...," Callen exhales. He opens the door and walks ahead. Marty is short up behind him. Callen takes his stance in the middle of the room: "Okay... kitchen's over there. Restroom is up the hallway... I'll show you where you sleep, c'mon."

Marty follows suit as Callen walks him to the bedroom.

"You can crash here," Callen gesticulates. He quickly puts some of the things away he has scattered on the ground.

"And where do you sleep?" Marty frowns.

"I crash on the couch," Callen shrugs as he stuffs some papers into the box by the window.

"But...," Marty grimaces, but Callen interrupts him: "You are my guest. You sleep in the bed. And you're supposed to rest your side, on the couch that doesn't work all too well."

"You really don't have to do this," Marty sighs uncomfortably.

"I know, but I want to... okay, so if there's anything you need, I'm in the living room. Just call or come to me... Is there anything you need now or are you good?" Callen asks.

"I'm... fine... thanks... I mean... _thank you_," Marty says.

"Not for that. Okay, then... good night. You should get some rest. You deserve it," Callen says.

"... night," Marty replies faintly. Callen exits the room and over to the couch. He puts some more stuff away before he kicks out of his boots and flops down on the couch. And for the first time in a long time, he simply falls asleep and drifts off into deep, deep sleep.


	6. Breakfast, Cars & Other Complications

Author's Note: Thank you all for the positive feedback! Okay, this chapter might be a bit of a gap-filler, but I have to move on in the investigation after all, right? Hope you'll still like it. More is on the way. I just have to edit everything... and that takes ages ;) read and review, or don't, whatever you like!

* * *

Callen only wakes up once the sunlight hits his eyes. He sits up, grimacing. Once his focus clears, G sees the small coffee table in front of him – the magazines neatly stacked up, the papers and reports also... _now wait_, that's not how he put them there. Callen might be an accurate worker at the NCIS, but his apartment is always a mess – because he spends so little time in there that he just leaves things the way they are and only cleans out once things start to stink, if at all. He looks around, still a little dazed – just to find the rest of the apartment perfectly clean as well.

"The hell?!" Callen mutters. He gets up.

"Marty?" Callen gasps, fright rising in his chest. Where is he? He quickly makes his way over to the bedroom, just to find it neatly made.

"Marty?" Callen calls out. Did he run off after all? Fuck! He already wants to run back over to the door to go search the kid, but that is the moment the teenager comes out of the restroom, confusion written all over his face.

"Hey, something up?" Marty looks at him curiously.

"For a moment I thought you had taken off," Callen admits, relief washing over his face.

"Just washed myself... are you mad at me or something?" Marty blinks.

"What? No. I just... I thought you had taken off. I was... upset," Callen grimaces.

"Okay," Marty nods.

"You don't come to know how my apartment is suddenly clean?" Callen asks.

"Saw little fairies flying around here...," Marty shrugs with a smirk. Callen chuckles drily: "I thought I had told you something about how you're supposed to rest."

"That's what I did," Marty insists.

"And how's my apartment clean, then?" Callen argues, to which Marty shrugs: "I rested my standard five hours and then started to clean. Thought you'd like that... but if that only upsets you... sorry."

"I'm not upset 'bout the fact that you did. I appreciate that. I just don't want you to think that this is your obligation because I let you crash here," Callen says.

"I wanted to do it, easy as that... and your apartment looked like helluva mess," Marty snickers.

"You're seriously a clean crack?" Callen cocks an eyebrow at him.

"To me the only way you appreciate a good place. Out in the streets, no sense in that, but if you got a place like that... I think you should cherish it," Marty shrugs.

"Wise words," Callen nods.

"Nah, just my opinion... either way... uh... I put the reports on the table in alphabetical order, but no worries, didn't look inside. Uhm... the mails I ordered to either personal or bills and stuff...," Marty runs down the list.

"Wow, my rooms didn't look like this ever since I moved in," Callen grimaces.

"No kidding. I think I saw a rat somewhere... or maybe some creepy mutant-cockroach," Marty shrugs. Callen chuckles: "Okay, then I guess I'll fix some breakfast."

"You don't sound too sure," Marty frowns.

"Well, has been some time since...," Callen rubs a hand over the back of his head.

"I mean, you don't have to," Marty offers.

"Nah, now don't be ridiculous. You should eat something to regain your strength. How difficult can it be?" Callen gesticulates. Marty sits at the table, waiting... grimacing... waiting and grimacing. At the oven, Callen is standing in fumes and smoke.

"Don't mean to be impolite, but did you ever actually cook... anything?" Marty knits his eyebrows.

"What? Yeah, of course!" Callen exclaims, flinging the spatula around so that a good amount of... dough... hits the wall.

"Is not like you have to prove anything to me," Marty offers.

"Kid, I'm not," Callen exhales. Really, how difficult can it be to fix some breakfast?!

"Aha...," Marty nods suspiciously. Callen tosses something dark on the plates and sets them down on the table.

"I'm giving in. This looks like dog poop," Callen admits his defeat, though he has to smirk.

"... I'd love to disagree, but it bears a certain resemblance," Marty snickers. He pokes the spongy black object with his index finger.

"At least it's dead," Marty declares. Callen plops his head down on the table in defeat. He can take on terrorists and criminals of all other likes, but... fails at the capacities of a breakfast.

"I'll buy some cereal today... this is disgusting," Callen scrunches his nose at that.

"So you don't do... breakfast, normally?" Marty grimaces.

"No, cup of coffee and then I eat some chocolate bar over at the office," Callen shrugs.

"Wow, that sounds healthy," Marty snorts.

"Works for me," Callen shrugs.

"Then maybe we should just do that and have a coffee? I fear this might actually get me killed?" Marty suggests, poking the black thing another time to make sure it keeps a safe distance. Callen chuckles as he pours them both a cup of coffee.

"I guess I have to admit to myself that I... can't cook, at all," Callen sighs.

"Admitting it is the first step to acceptance?" Marty offers, to which Callen can only chuckle: "Yeah, might be."

"The coffee's good," Marty says around a mouthful of the brown liquid.

"Thanks," Callen smiles.

_"God,_ you know how long I've been craving for this?" Marty grunts.

"Long?" Callen shrugs.

"Hell yeah! I used to go to a shop down the street where they had this coffee station. God I loved that thing. The boss would always have me have one for free. But then I got taken and... I was carving for caffeine for felt eternities," he smiles at the memory.

"Well... is about time we head out," Callen changes the subject swiftly, and Marty takes the cue: "_We_?"

"Yeah, of course. I'm taking you to the NCIS," Callen says.

"Ah, right, the identikit-thing... and getting Viper by the balls... yadda," Marty gesticulates.

"Got that right. Okay, let's head out," Callen says, getting up. Marty follow short up behind the older man. They walk to the car, get inside and drive to the NCIS. Callen walks ahead while Marty still takes in... the picture.

"Morning," Kensi greets.

"Morning," Sam nods.

"Morning you two... I see, already busy? That's good," Callen smirks.

"Hetty said we had to catch up on paperwork... yuck. Oh, hey Marty!" she beams at the teen, who replies with a shy smile: "Hey."

"Is the artist here for the identikit?" Callen asks.

"Didn't hear about it. Might be. You should ask Hetty," Kensi snorts, her mind already buried in one of her reports again.

"Okay, I'll go see her... Can you take care of the kid while I'm?" Callen asks.

"Sure," Kensi nods, whipping her attention to Marty immediately. Callen walks off. Marty still stands there, looking confused, just like a small lost puppy. Kensi smiles at him.

"Marty? Wanna come here?" Kensi gesticulates for Marty to come over to her table. The kid obeys and walks over.

"Did Callen feed you yet?" Kensi asks suspiciously.

"... he... tried?" Marty frowns.

"Yeah, no, that man doesn't cook, he kills," Kensi agrees.

"I only got to see it once when we were on an undercover assignment in a cabin... that smell never left me... and I was sick for a month," Sam gags only at the memory. _Damn this_ chili.

"I can't cook either, but I gave up trying long ago, for the sake of the people around me," Kensi waves her hands in the air. Sam smirks at that: "And you're perfect trying to sell takeaway food as food cooked by you. Almost fell for the cookies you gave me for Christmas last year."

"I, personally, bought them and put them in the oven so that they'd be crispy again – and I didn't burn them, so that is cooking enough to me!" Kensi snickers.

"You and G are one of a kind when it comes to this," Sam rolls his eyes with a smirk.

"So... did you eat anything yet?" Kensi asks again.

"Does coffee count?" Marty questions.

"Only if it's fifty percent sugar," Kensi shakes her head.

"Then no," Marty shrugs.

"Okay. So here you go," Kensi smiles as she hands him a donut. Marty takes it hesitantly.

"You know what that is, right? So eat it already," Kensi winks at him.

"... Thanks," he brings out.

"Not for that. I kill way too many of these anyways," Kensi sighs.

"You _devour_ them," Sam corrects her.

"And you do Origami. Everyone has dirty little secrets," Kensi makes a face at him.

"Origami is a great way to calm down and focus on something," Sam lectures her.

"Is that why you freaked the other day over... what was it?" Kensi smirks.

"I didn't freak," Sam shakes his head.

"You threw all the little paper things on the ground and yelled. I call that to freak out. So what did you freak out about?" Kensi snickers.

"I was a little upset that I couldn't make a rose. I know how it's done, but I just couldn't get it right. And that made me a little upset," Sam admits.

"I thought you'd let roll some heads," Kensi huffs.

"Whatever," Sam grumbles.

"So, did you get a handle on it by now?" Kensi teases.

"On what?" Sam rolls his eyes at her.

"Your rose-issue?" Kensi snickers.

"I just take my time. You know, this is what Origami is about – calm, focus, Zen," Sam retorts.

"Zen _my ass_!" Kensi huffs.

"I'll get that done. You'll see," Sam says with determination... and kind of as a _threat._

"I highly doubt it, but okay," Kensi snickers. Callen walks back to the bullpen.

"Marty? Would you come with me?" Callen asks. Marty gets up instantly and follows suit.

_"Harmonic,"_ Kensi whistles softly, glancing at just how those two work in sync.

"Is almost creepy," Sam frowns.

"I find it cute," Kensi smiles.

Meanwhile, Callen walks Marty into the ops room.

"Marty, those are our analysts Eric Beale and Nell Jones – and this is our artist for the identikit, Milo Ramsay. Eric and Nell will scan Milo's sketch to make it 3D. That way we can search more effectively," Callen explains.

"Hi... everyone," Marty waves his hand lamely, seemingly overwhelmed by the new input.

"Okay, Marty... is it okay if I call you Marty?" Milo asks politely.

"... sure," Marty frowns.

"I'm Milo Ramsay, I'm the artist for the identikit," Milo explains.

"Okay," Marty nods.

"Okay, so now we'll see how far we get. I want you to recall that person as though he stood right in front of you. We need as many details as you can come to remember. Can you do that for me?" Milo asks in a soft voice. Marty shrugs his okay.

"Okay, Marty, so now I'll ask you to tell me what Viper looks like. Start with the part you think you remember best. The eyes, the nose, maybe some tattoos he has?" Milo questions.

"Latino. 5.7 tall. Shoe size 10. Usually wears black. Pierced in the right ear. Fake diamond. Ears stick out, but are small. Hair is shaved short. About three inch long inlets by the temples on both sides. Head's slightly small compared to the rest of the body. The shape of the skull is triangular. The chin is long, has a notch in the middle that tends to the right, though. The nose is broad, the tip doesn't reach out far. The nostrils are also broad and round. The cheekbones don't stick forward far. That's why he has those sideburns. His eyes are brown, almond-shaped, small and fairly close to the nose, the left one bigger than the right one. His lips are thin and rosy in color. He has a small scar under his left eye when he got in a fight, so he said. The forehead is broad, with three creases that are visible all the time. His throat is about as thick as his skull, and not very long. He has three tattoos I know of. One is on his left upper arm, a red and black dragon twisting around his arm. The other is his gang tattoo on the back of his right hand, a circle with a double bar in the middle. Last one I know is on the back of his neck, a... Japanese symbol... uhm, stands for Viper, of course... can you work with that?"

"That's more than I expected, to be honest, okay... gimme some time to get those impressions on paper. You did really well, Marty," Milo gapes.

The teenager nods at him. The others, Callen included, are visibly impressed, stunned. However, that is when his phone buzzes. Callen grabs it and looks at the screen.

"Hetty again. Marty? You stay here, okay?" Callen grunts. He walks up to the two analysts.

"Have an eye on him," Callen instructs them.

"Will do," the two nod simultaneously. The teenager nods as the Senior Agent walks off again. Nell and Eric walk up to him, realizing the tension in his posture.

"Hey, until Milo's done will take a little while and I got nothing to do. You'd like to play a computer game with me?" Nell offers. Marty grimaces at her uncertainly.

"You like computer games, don't you?" she asks with a wink.

"... uhm... never played one," Marty admits, blushing.

"Ah, that's no shame. And the one I have is really easy to catch up with. C'mon already," she encourages him. Marty uncertainly walks with her over to one of the computers. She starts to explain the game to him and they start to play. Meanwhile, Callen is having conversation with Hetty.

"... so what's the issue with Carter now?" Callen rolls his eyes. He isn't here in an hour and he is only running back and forth, really.

"Well, Ms. Carter is very upset about the fact that the teenager she still thinks murdered her husband is not in prison yet...," Hetty sighs.

Then why don't we tell her about what's really going on?" Callen retorts.

"Because we don't know yet. And there is still other things that need to be clarified before we confront a widow with the possibility that her husband may have paid for sexual intercourse with children," Hetty replies in a lecturing tone.

"The kid's telling the truth," Callen insists.

"I believe so, too, Mr. Callen. I honestly do, yet... our impression of Mr. Deeks won't suffice, not for court, not for the widow," Hetty sighs. She wished it did, but she knows better than that. Politics are a bothersome business, really.

"So what now? Are we supposed to cuff him again, just to make her happy?" Callen snorts.

"Mr. Callen," Hetty shakes her head at him.

"What? As if the situation weren't bad enough already!" Callen grumbles.

"Mr. Callen, you are obviously upset about that," Hetty glances at him.

"Of course I am upset! This teenager, against medical advice, left the hospital to rescue fifteen children, by putting his own life on the line. The same boy saved my life when he held one of the men in there at bay. To whom does he appear as the bad guy, you tell me?!" Callen exclaims.

"To a woman who just lost her loving husband she thought was an upstanding citizen, an exemplary Marine she'd have a family with. As sorry as I am for Mr. Deeks and as much as I agree with you, this woman still deserves our sympathy," Hetty explains.

"Out of sympathy I won't cuff him or throw him into prison or whatever," Callen grumbles.

"That is not said. We just have to make sure that nothing seeps through to the outside. We are walking on very thin ice, Mr. Callen. We are trusting our instincts, a lot. And we may be mistaken. We may be mistaken about Mr. Deeks. We might be wrong about the story," Hetty explains.

"He didn't lie to us, at all. Why would he?" Callen retorts.

"Mr. Callen, you know why people would do that," Hetty shakes her head.

"So... what's the plan other than not spilling to the news that Marty is with us?" Callen sighs, trying to calm down.

"To look at the facts and nothing but the facts," Hetty shrugs.

"This is bullshit, we both know that," Callen snorts.

"... yet, we are in the role where we have to ride so such out, to bring the truth to light," Hetty snorts herself, too.

"We just gotta get this Viper-person. Then we'll see whose version is true," Callen declares.

"I agree," she nods.

"I take that I'm not supposed to let Marty know about that?" Callen sighs.

"Right," Hetty agrees.

"Okay, is there anything else?" Callen exhales.

"No, now, no," Hetty licks her lips.

"Okay, then I'm heading back," Callen says. Hetty nods at him. Callen makes his way back to the ops room where he finds Nell and Marty playing a computer game. Nell is overly cheerful and even the teenager smirks at her.

"Having some fun?" Callen smirks as he walks up to them.

"He's really good gamer, though he still claims he never played before," Nell snickers.

"I didn't. Honest," Marty insists.

"That's what you say.," Nell huffs.

"What? Did he win?" Callen frowns.

"Seven times in a row, after three tries. She was short before tearing down the walls," Eric whispers over his shoulder.

"Oh, shut up already," Nell grumbles.

"Milo? How's it going with the identikit?" Callen turns to the artist.

"Almost done... ah, there we go. Marty?" Milo addresses Marty. The teenager turns around to face the artist again. Milo turns his pad around so that the teenager can see it.

"Does that fit your description?" Milo asks. Marty nods his head.

"Pretty much dead-on," he whistles, visibly impressed.

"We're making a good team... so, Eric, I think you're taking it from here?" Milo hands the picture to the analyst, who takes it with a nod: "Yeah, thanks."

"Okay, heading out, then. Marty? Was a pleasure to work with you," Milo smirks. Marty gives him a short smile before his eyes drift off to the picture again.

"Okay, scanning it... now we just let the computer program work this out. That takes about a minute...," Eric says.

"We gotta work fast," Callen urges. He walks up closer to Eric.

"Did we get the results of the DNA test yet?" Callen whispers.

"No, nothing yet," Eric whispers back.

"Normally it doesn't take that long," Callen frowns.

"There was a mass car accident, which is why the hospital had to put the samples on hold. They will test it today, I guess," Eric shrugs.

"Okay, inform Hetty or me once you have it," Callen nods.

"Sure... ah, there we go!" Eric almost yells towards the end, bringing a mug shot on-screen.

"Marty? Is that him?" Callen questions. The teenager stares at the screen, nodding his head.

"Yeah," he says.

"Are you sure?" Callen asks. Marty nods his head again.

"Well, then... Hello Viper...," Eric sighs.

"Good job," Callen says, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Now we send that through kaleidoscope," Eric nods.

"Good," Callen approves. He turns back to Marty and Nell.

"Marty? You wanna stay here or you wanna go back downstairs?" Callen asks. The teenager shrugs at him, then studies Callen's face for a second. He gets up from his seat.

"Going back downstairs," he decides at last. Callen smirks at him. Marty instantly understood that he'd rather not have him in here, because of information process. The teenager walks over to the bullpen where Kensi and Sam are still buried in paperwork.

"Already back that fast?" Kensi frowns. She expected this to take the day.

"Milo's really good at his job," Marty smirks.

"Whatcha wanna do now?" Kensi asks. The kid shrugs at her.

"You don't come to have particular interest in filling out those reports, huh?" she sighs.

"Would do it, but I don't think Callen would want that," Marty grimaces.

"True again... so what do we do with you, huh?" Kensi eyes him with a thoughtful frown.

"I can just sit here and be silent," Marty offers.

"What's that?" Sam looks up from his papers.

"I'm... I'm distracting you people from doing your work," Marty shakes his head.

"I'm happy about any kind of distraction," Kensi smirks.

"Right, she's begging for it, even if you aren't around," Sam rolls his eyes. She smirks at him.

"So, here I got a card game. The game goes as follows. We play Go Fish – but while at it, I'll have to fill out these papers. Means you gotta do something else at the same time, too, so that we're equally distracted... of being distracted," Kensi explains.

"... I could... write down all US presidents?" Marty suggests.

"Okay, you shuffle," Kensi claps her hands together. The two start to play. Some time later, Eric comes downstairs and whistles at Kensi and Sam.

"Kensi? Sam? Callen wants to see you upstairs!" Eric calls out.

"... why does he whistle?" Marty whispers to Kensi.

"No one knows... no one asks... we just go with it," Kensi snickers.

"... you are a funny bunch of people," Marty mutters to himself.

"You got no idea," Sam smirks.

"Okay, uh, Marty?" Kensi turns to him again.

"I stay here if it's okay. Not running off or anything," Marty nods.

"Okay, if there's something, come upstairs, yeah?" Kensi smiles. He nods as she gets up from her seat to join Sam and Eric. They walk into the ops room where Callen and Nell are already waiting for them.

"Whatcha got for us?" Sam asks.

"We ran a facial scan according to the identikit we got," Nell informs them.

"You got a hit?" Sam cocks an eyebrow at her.

"In fact. Julio Alvarez by real name... caught on a video camera near the street where Carter was found, about thirty minutes before police received the call," Eric confirms, showing the footage.

"What do we know 'bout him?" Kensi asks.

"Used to be part of a gang by name Riot for about five years. His older brother introduced him to the gang. He was shot after Alvarez' first year in the gang. They mostly hotwired cars or robbed smaller shops, it's said that they also dealt around with drugs, but it was never proven. He was in custody a few times, but only sat in two times for about half a year each. He left the gang after a big raid where only he got out of it," Nell supplies.

"Sounds like someone has helped him," Sam suggests.

"Same thought we had. And actually we found this guy here...," Nell says, giving the stage to Eric as the picture appears on-screen: "Thomas Benson, calls himself the Uncle and is a pretty big deal in both prostitution and drugs. You could say that he took Alvarez under his wing and made him one of his loose employees."

"Means that Alvarez does whatever job the Uncle wants him on," Nell explains.

"And let me guess, the Uncle is also involved with the bastards we took into custody yesterday?" Kensi sighs.

"Got that right. They were seen together in a restaurant on the outskirt of town couple of times," Eric nods.

"So they've made deals," Kensi concludes.

"Looks like it," Eric shrugs.

"But what's the sense in the Uncle sending out Viper to murder Carter? If the Uncle and the bastard from yesterday are on such good terms?" Kensi frowns.

"That's what we got to figure out," Callen shrugs.

"Do we know where Alvarez is at the moment?" Kensi asks.

"No, but we know where he meets with the Uncle," Eric smirks.

"Lemme guess, we'll blow up the party," Sam grins.

"Exactly. So you and I will do that. Kensi, you'll stay in the car and watch out for others to come in. We don't want that party to become too big," Callen orders.

"Hey, don't always push me to the side-line!" Kensi mutters.

"You get to kick ass next time, okay?" Callen offers.

"Fine, but I'll take you up on that," Kensi threatens.

"Eric, Nell, try to find the link between Carter and Alvarez, or the Uncle," Callen says. The two analysts nod before they return to their work. The other three walk out of the room.

"What do we do with Marty?" Kensi asks.

"... I guess we should just send him over to see Eric and Nell again," Callen shrugs dismissively.

"Something wrong?" Kensi frowns concerned.

"What? No," Callen shakes his head.

"I mean...," Kensi begins, but Callen interrupts her: "There's nothing wrong. I just want to get over with this – and as many of the bastards turned in as we can muster. Easy as that."

"If that's what you say...," Kensi sighs. She knows better than to argue with him when he is having one of his... mood swings? They walk downstairs over to their tables to grab their things. Kensi stops at Sam's table, though.

"Huh. Didn't think you'd be that fast, Sam," Kensi smirks at him.

"What's that?" Sam frowns.

"Well, I didn't even realize you did it. Was wrong 'bout that one. I bet you trained already through the night," Kensi grins.

"What?" Sam grimaces at her incredulously. She points at his table, on which lies a perfectly folded rose.

"I didn't do it," Sam shakes his head.

"Yeah, right, as if... now wait, where the hell's Marty?" Kensi asks the one-million-dollar-question. They look around.

"Don't tell me he ran off!" Sam breaks out.

"Marty!" Kensi calls out.

"Oh, please!" Callen exclaims, not again! The three swarm out, looking for the boy.

"Hey, Mike? Did you see the kid somewhere?" Kensi asks.

"What kid?" Mike frowns at her. Kensi waves her hand as she walks further.

"Marty? Where are you?" Callen hollers. Hetty suddenly calls from the side: "Mr. Callen, over here!"

Both men turn their heads to find Marty sitting at Hetty's desk. He looks at them rather confused.

"There you are! We've been looking for you!" Callen gasps.

"That is thanks to me, Mr. Callen. I asked him to come over," Hetty assures.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Callen demands. Marty glances at him as he pulls out two earplugs, which couldn't be seen under his long curls.

"Oh, didn't hear you. You were in my back, so I didn't see you coming. Sorry," he replies sheepishly.

"So... what are you two doing here, if I may ask?" Callen frowns. He waves over at Kensi, who is visibly relieved once she catches sight of Marty.

"A little experiment," Hetty snickers.

"And you gotta experiment with the kid?" Callen gesticulates.

"Well, he looked as though he had nothing to do," Hetty shrugs.

"Did I do something wrong or so?" Marty asks with wide eyes.

"No, Marty. No worries," Kensi assures quickly.

"Mr. Deeks? What has it been?" Hetty asks, turning her attention back to the teen.

"'76 Mustang," Marty replies quickly.

"Correct," Hetty chuckles, utterly pleased.

"Now what?" G's frown, if possible, only deepens.

"Mr. Deeks has a very fine ear, so to speak," Hetty informs him. Callen takes one of the earpieces to hear noises from a busy street.

"The hell?" he grimaces. What kind of music is that?!

"Mr. Deeks quite rightly identified a car passing by when I came by to see him," Hetty explains.

"Why did you do that to begin with?" Callen frowns. Marty shrugs: "Had nothing else to do. Played that often in the streets. Whoever recognizes the most cars correctly wins."

"I saw him writing down the cars and then watching the cars pass by to tick them off as either right or wrong," Hetty carries on.

"And why do you have an MP3 full of car noises?" Sam blinks at her.

"Because I, Mr. Hanna, am aware of the great advantage it can have for people of our profession to recognize a car by the sound. If you are in a tough or hostage situation, this can be vital information," Hetty quips: "And Mr. Deeks is a natural."

Marty visibly blushes at the attention he gets.

"Okay, well, now we know where you are... we gotta head out. Hetty, on a word?" Callen asks.

"Of course, Mr. Callen," Hetty smiles. The two walk a little aside.

"I thought we're not supposed to get personally involved with Marty. At least that's been the talk you've given me like... three hours ago," Callen mutters. Really, he is having a hard time treating him not like that – and Hetty just does it?! Now what the bloody hell?!

"Mr. Callen, then you clearly must have misunderstood me. I did not say that you have to avoid Mr. Deeks. It's just that we have to keep a professional distance when in investigation of this case. As for the rest, we just have to make sure that this does not seep through to the outside," Hetty shrugs.

"So... playing around with him is alright, but believing in his innocence is not?" Callen cocks an eyebrow at her. That is not making any sense. Hetty knows this, too, but: "As of now... yes!"

"This is all too confusing. And that's why I normally keep my head outta the personal stuff. That only leads to trouble, really," Callen sighs exasperatedly.

"Mr. Callen," Hetty exhales, but G is having none of it: "No, I mean... he seems like a good kid. I think he is. And that's the problem. I don't like to have those conflicts. I work best with a well measured distance between me and the case."

"Well, I don't know how it is about you, Mr. Callen, but... sometimes we have to change patterns to figure perhaps a greater kind of truth," Hetty suggests.

"You're being cryptic again," Callen mutters. He told her often enough that she should just straightly tell him what she wants. That would save them so much trouble, or well... it would save him trouble.

"That is the point. As of now... we will treat Mr. Deeks as our VIP guest, one no one is supposed to know about," Hetty explains, hoping that now things are clear.

"Okay, so you have an eye on him?" Callen asks.

"Most certainly yes. I want to find out what else he can come up with. Up to that point he keeps on impressing me with little tiny things," Hetty snickers.

"Now, Hetty, don't lose the professional distance, eh?" Callen retorts sarcastically. Hetty gives him a look. He lets out a dry chuckle before walking back over to Sam and Kensi.

"We're leaving," he waves his arms at Kensi and Sam. The two follow suit.

"See ya later, Marty," the Junior Agent waves at Marty as she goes. The teenager stares at them as they leave before slumping down in his seat again. Hetty walks back over and settles down in her chair.

"Mr. Deeks, you look... disappointed?" she frowns.

"What? No, no," Marty shakes his head in a sheepish way.

"What's wrong?" Hetty asks.

"Is just... uh... your team's really good," Marty licks his lips.

"In fact... even if that does not explain your disappointment," Hetty questions.

"... all people are nice and all," Marty adds. Hetty looks at him expectantly.

"... means they'll get the job done in no time," Marty exhales.

"Ah, now I understand," she nods.

"Yeah, sorry... I mean... I shouldn't be ungrateful. You guys did a lot for me. A whole lot. More than most people in my life have ever done for me, respectively," Marty grimaces.

"Yet, I understand your feelings, Mr. Deeks. And that is no shame," Hetty assures softly.

Marty falls silent after that, puts the earphones back in and starts to write more car names. Hetty settles back in her chair and sips some of her tea.


	7. And Then There Was The Twist

Author's Note: Okay, you guys are just amazing! I never-ever expected such positive feedback for this story, so thank you, thank you, thank you!  
I want to underline that I don't want to generalize and make CPS-folks the bad guys of the game (like police). Those guys are doing a very hard job, but... again, I need those people messing up to move my story forward. Otherwise we'd miss some much-needed drama, so... please, that is not directed against them.  
Okay, that being said... as for this chapter, I know it's a bit longer, but... quite some things to say also. And I hope that this will finally bring you the twist you have waited for.  
Hope you'll enjoy. Read and review, as you like it, you know how it goes ;)

* * *

The three agents made their way over to the diner. They sit in the car to discuss the next steps.

"Alright, so we'll just go in there and pretend to be customers. Once it's time, we start the raid," Callen explains.

"And you take some pictures and tell us if there's more approaching," Sam suggests. Kensi lets out a sigh, still not liking the idea, but she knows better than to argue.

"Got it," she makes a mock-salute. Callen nods, before he and Sam enter the diner and settle in a corner where they can see everything. They order some coffee not to appear suspicious.

"So now we wait," Sam exhales, leaning back in his seat.

"Yup," Callen shrugs.

"So... what's the plan?" Sam asks, to which Callen knits his eyebrows: "We discussed that in the car, you moron."

"No, not for this... I mean for... the kid," Sam explains, moving a bit closer.

"Whatcha mean my plans? I got no plans. I finish the case and that's it," Callen frowns. Really, since when do they do personal talk on a job?!

"And that's it?" Sam repeats with a cocked eyebrow, not buying it.

"Yeah. Why is everyone being so weird about it?" Callen grimaces.

"Coz you care for that kid," Sam shrugs.

"Not you, too," Callen sighs. Really, why is everyone assuming things when he is actually being nice to a kid. Or is it really that outrageous that he did the boy a favor and let him crash over at his place?!

"G, I know you, probably better than most people in the world. You care for that kid, and not just on the case-level. You took him home with you. You tried to friggin' cook for him," Sam argues.

"Fine, maybe I care for him, is that so bad? I mean, the kid needed someone to trust – and he chose me. I had to let him close so that he'd open up to me," Callen mutters.

"You and I both know that you didn't calculate it as you just said," Sam shakes his head.

"What if I didn't? What's so horrible about it that everyone's bitching about it?!" Callen exclaims, though he keeps his voice leveled.

"It's nothing bad, G. Is actually the first time in a long time that I saw you that... easy-going," Sam smirks at him, to which Callen can only frown: "What now?"

"I know that you play calm, but in truth you're always kinda tense, for whatever the reason that is now, coz sure as hell you ain't telling me anything. But what I can say is that this little guy makes you smile and pushes you into taking him home with you, something you never-ever did before," Sam explains.

"I like him. I connect to him on some level. Gladly I didn't undergo what he went through, but I know how shitty it is to be stuck with sucky foster families and not to know your place. So yeah, maybe that's why I put a liking to him, but that doesn't change a thing about the fact that I know that this is the line," G says.

"The line _you_ draw," Sam underlines.

"The line we draw because of the job. He is a job," Callen insists. Sam just lets out a snort.

"What now?" Callen blinks at him. He is a job, isn't he?

"Just a job," Sam repeats another time, not buying it, at all. He knows this boy means more to his partner than the man would ever admit, but he also knows that G Callen will only learn something if you ram his face right into it, again and again.

"Look, I honestly like him for his character. And is not that I don't like being around him, it's just that with our job, you have to keep the line intact. Otherwise it only gets hard on all of us. And I honestly miss the point why you ponder on how he might be more to me," Callen mutters.

"I just say he seemingly does you good," Sam shrugs.

"Sam, I don't need a troubled teenager to fix me. Okay? I'm fine the way I am and I don't need the little runt in my life to be happy or whatever. I barely know him!" Callen retorts, now taking it as an offense. Really, Sam is crossing a line he shouldn't, a line he know he shouldn't even get close to.

"Oh, c'mon.," Sam snorts.

"And anyways, it still might be he turns out to be a liar and all. We don't know if he is what he claims to be. There's so little we actually know about him that it's best to keep a professional distance. Even Hetty agrees. I can't be clouded by my sentiment. I think that he's one helluva guy who can sell you a brick for gold coz of the damn charisma," Callen mutters. Of course he doesn't believe that Marty is a liar, but... he believes in professional distance. That is what makes you sleep at night.

"So you're just afraid that he's lying to you? Or are you afraid coz he might just be what you think he is?" Sam questions.

"I don't even know why we're discussing this. We will get the truth – and then the specialists take it from there," Callen shakes his head. Really, what's the point?!

"So what? You finish the case and then you're glad he's gone for good?" Sam frowns.

"What? No, I finish the case and then he gets proper care," Callen grimaces.

"And you believe that yourself? You know how it is with foster system," Sam huffs.

"Just coz I had bad experiences doesn't mean all children from foster system are doomed to be unhappy and scarred for life," Callen replies defensively.

"Oh, please!" Sam mutters. They've dealt with this often enough. CPS just have too many children to take care of, and that is why those kids still slip through the net, fall through and hit bottom.

"And it's not like I can help it or whatever. And I already talked to him. He can also try to get his status as an adult, emancipation and all," Callen shrugs dismissively.

"To what? End up on the streets all over again?" Sam huffs.

"That is his decisions then," Callen shrugs.

"You mean that?" Sam questions, because he hardly doubts it.

"What am I supposed to say, Sam? That's the way it's gonna go. CPS will take care of him once this case is cleared. That's how they work. That's how we work. It's rule. There's nothing I can do about it. They come take him, period," Callen shakes his head, trying hard to keep the sadness out of his voice.

"And you won't see each other again," Sam sighs.

"That's the way it goes with foster families, Sam," Callen shrugs.

"Yeah, no, I know. Just saying," Sam shrugs back.

"Whatever," G rolls his eyes.

"Ah, our guests are finally joining us for brunch," Sam says, now back on the mission.

"Let's see what they are up to," Callen nods, the entire argument forgotten. Viper and the Uncle are coming in and settle down within eavesdrop of Callen and Sam.

"So... I had to learn that things did not go clean on this job," the Uncle grimaces angrily.

"I had to act fast – because someone had already begun before I came," Viper returns.

"And I told you to make this fast and clean. You heard what happened the other night. The cops know something," the other man hisses in a low voice.

"Again, I had to do it by then," Viper insists. That is the moment Callen and Sam get up.

"Gentlemen?" Callen greets them with a broad smirk on his lips.

"What is it?" the Uncle mutters defensively.

"I have to ask you for a little favor," Callen explains.

"Get lost already," the man growls.

"No, no, no. Honestly. I really need to...," Callen waves his hands in the air.

"Get-lost!" Viper curses, but Callen keeps going: "You're really rude. I just wanted to ask if you had a lighter, but well..."

He snaps around and draws his gun, as does Sam.

"Hands to where I can see them. NCIS," Callen says. The two want to get up, but Sam blocks them.

"Don't bother," Sam smirks: "You really should've just given him the lighter."

"You'll pay for this."

"No, you will," Sam retorts grimly.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do may be used against you in court. You have the right to have an attorney. If you can't afford one, one will be provided to you. And now, get the hell outta here and let the other customers enjoy their donuts," Callen grunts, pushing the Uncle ahead while Sam takes care of Viper. They bring the two outside and over to the car.

"Aw man, you didn't bring me anything," Kensi grumbles playfully.

"What about those two?" Sam cocks an eyebrow at her.

"They taste like shit," Kensi snickers.

"You can help interrogate," Sam offers, to which the young woman only rolls her eyes: "So generous."

The three make their way to the boatshed. They bring the two into separate rooms.

"Kensi? You go talk to Viper, I'll take on the Uncle," Callen orders.

"Got it," Kensi nods, glad for – _finally_ – getting some action.

"I'll see Eric and Nell for perhaps more information," Sam suggests.

"Good," Callen nods. With that G walks in and settles down in his chair. The Uncle smirking at him smugly.

"Alright, Mr. _Benson_, that correct?" Callen begins confidently, to which the man only snickers just as smugly: "In fact."

"Mr. Benson... I just have a couple of questions for you and then you'll be out of this in no time," Callen assures.

"Shoot," Benson frowns at Callen's assurance.

"Do you know a man by name... Bryan Carter?" Callen asks.

"I don't know. I know many people," Benson shrugs.

"Then what about... uh... Francis Bodwin?" G pokes further.

"No," the man shakes his head.

"Also known as... Dingo?" Callen blinks at him.

"Doesn't ring a bell with me, sorry," the man smiles at him.

"Okay, maybe I can help with that," Callen puts down the photos in front of him: "Recognizing any of these?"

"I don't know, Agent," the Uncle shakes his head.

"... well, you may want to know that the man who accompanied you was caught on camera near the place where this man you don't come to know was murdered," Callen explains.

"Well, that's very sad, but... how is that of my concern?" Benson questions.

"Because this man works for you," Callen argues.

"How would you know?" the Uncle retorts.

"Hm, let's see... from those pictures, perhaps?" Callen puts down the next set of pictures showing them as they exchange money and papers. Benson swallows: "Then maybe he works for me occasionally... that doesn't mean that I have to do with it that he murdered this one here."

"I never mentioned that he killed him. I only said that he was seen near the scene," Callen replies coolly.

"Ah, Agent, let's not fool around, shall we? It was all over the news," Benson shakes his head with a sigh.

"But you agreed that you work with someone who is involved into illegal activities," Callen returns.

"Who isn't these days?" Benson shrugs.

"I may inform you that Mr. Alvarez worked for Mr. Bodwin as well," Callen says.

"Then this is what he does. I don't see what's the business here?" Benson argues.

"The business, Sir, is that you can either cooperate with us – and tell us what went on, to get the least damage, or you keep silent and we charge you for plotting against Mr. Bodwin as well as Mr. Carter," Callen informs him drily.

"How would I plot against Bodwin if Alvarez kills Carter?" Benson huffs.

"Because we can suspect that Mr. Bodwin is competition to you and that taking out his customers, which Mr. Carter was, would be beneficiary for your own purposes. I don't think there's speaking much against the theory that you hired Mr. Alvarez to kill off Mr. Bodwin's customers. After all, that's why the raid on his Sale House was so successful, as you probably know from the news as well," Callen replies with a smirk.

"I don't do what he does – and if you want to press on that, we'll only talk to each other with my lawyer sitting right here," the Uncle smirks.

"Mr. Benson, you should realize that, if anything, I'm trying to help you out. We can make a deal that guarantees you that you get least damage, so to speak. All you have to do is to get rid of some of the... baggage?" Callen suggests.

"Agent...," Benson sighs, but Callen interrupts: "I mean, is not your fault that he messed up by making it a shootout by day, right? He messes up and you're supposed to cover up for him? He's not even a close employee of yours, as far as I can take from your description. Why do you risk so much for him if you don't care much about him at all? It could be really easy if you just delivered us Alvarez, then the rest is just a bit of collateral damage, something I'm sure your... _agency_... will be able to cover up for."

"So if I, hypothetically speaking, told you about the shootout and Alvarez's involvement, you wouldn't link me to that?"

"Exactly," Callen nods.

"Not at all? In no such way, even if, hypothetically, I did order him there?" Benson tests.

"No, absolutely not," Callen assures. Benson thinks for another second: "Well, Mr. Alvarez, as far as I know from him... was ordered by Mr. Bodwin to take out Mr. Carter."

"Why is that?" Callen questions, to which the man replies: "I don't know all the details, what Mr. Alvarez told me is that Mr. Bodwin feared for his... Sale House to be uncovered thanks to Mr. Carter's actions. So... Mr. Bodwin asked for Mr. Alvarez's help, through me, of course, since I'm his... _boss_, if you will. And I agreed to borrow Mr. Alvarez to Mr. Bodwin for his little problem."

"Okay... ah, I'm just receiving a call. I'll be back in a second," Callen smiles before he heads outside, where Kensi is already waiting for him.

"What did Alvarez say?" Callen asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Little wimp broke right away. He said that Benson ordered him upon the call from Bodwin to take out Carter," Kensi snickers. She already had a feeling that he was all muscles, but all tears also, but that guy literally sobbed.

"Did he say why?" Callen questions.

"Carter wanted to blackmail Bodwin to let him have a fair share of the profit he got out of his sex ring. He said that he, as a Marine, could get away with it and claim that he just tried to uncover this whole shit. Bodwin didn't like that, which is why he wanted Alvarez to kill him. He sent Marty as a distraction. Bodwin didn't estimate that Marty would fight Carter, which is why Alvarez had to move faster. The original plan was that Carter takes Marty to the apartment he usually went to, but... ugh... sorry, just too disgusting... he couldn't hold back and took him right to the alley. Marty stabbed him and Alvarez took his chance because otherwise he and Bodwin had to fear that Carter would otherwise spill," Kensi provides.

"Did Alvarez say why Benson willed to borrow him to Bodwin?" Callen asks.

"Because he feared for his own position to be uncovered. Carter did not only buy Bodwin's... merchandise," Kensi grimaces.

"I see. Well, Benson sent Alvarez to hell and admitted that he knew about Alvarez shooting him, upon the order. Of course I had to guarantee him that he wouldn't be linked to the murder so that he'd sell Alvarez," Callen smirks. Kensi grins back: "And of course I had to sell Benson to Alvarez by saying that I get him by forcing him into it. I love it when people are just stupid."

"Ah, and here we got what we needed," Callen smiles as he holds his phone out to Kensi, who smirks at that.

"Our friends are on their way here. So you tell Alvarez he can go to hell – and I'll let Benson know about it. Send them in as soon as they get here," Callen grins. She winks at him: "Got it."

Callen walks back into the interrogation room.

"Finished with the business?" Benson asks, literally bathing in his self-consciousness.

"What? Yeah, uh, I just had to talk to my boss to get everything working," Callen assures, flashing a gentle smile.

"Aha," Thomas nods.

"Well, Alvarez is taken into custody as we speak," Callen informs him. Benson smirks at him, visibly relieved.

"Well, he's gonna be charged for murder in case of Mr. Carter," Callen nods.

"Bad for him," Benson shrugs. There is a knock on the door.

"Come in," Callen calls out.

"What's that now?" Benson frowns.

"Your escort service," Callen winks at him.

"To where?" Benson gapes, but that is when two officers from LAPD come in.

"Gentleman! Welcome to the boatshed. Meet Mr. Benson," Callen smiles, getting up.

"Agent Callen?" the first officer nods at G, who nods: "That'd be me."

"We're taking over from here," the man replies, motioning to Benson, who curses: "What is that?"

"Thomas Benson, you are charged for conspiracy to murder, possession of drugs, and forcing people into prostitution, especially minors, drug abuse, illegal shippings, and murder as well," the other officer speaks, yanking Benson up from his seat.

"You said you won't charge me!" Benson hollers.

"I said _I_ wouldn't. That does not go for LAPD. Different department. Gentlemen, he's all yours," Callen winks at them.

"You bastard!" Benson growls. The agents pin him down as he tries to get to Callen.

"The only bastard I see in the room is you," Callen shakes his head.

"Thanks for the help," the first officer nods at Callen, who returns: "Next time you got someone involved with the Marine, you just give us a call."

The officers nod before they walk off again. Callen lets out a sigh of relief before he walks back outside and makes his way to the bullpen. They walk up to Sam.

"I call that a success," Kensi smirks.

"Definitely," Callen nods.

"So... we got Alvarez... and Bodwin and Benson are with LAPD. Didn't think it'd go that smoothly," Sam shrugs.

"Me neither," Kensi shrugs.

"Okay, I guess I should deliver the good news," Callen declares, clapping his hands together.

"You want me to call CPS?" Sam asks.

"Huh?" Callen frowns at him.

"Well, now Marty's cleared. The people he could help us with are turned in. Next step is to get him a placement. And that's something that needs to be coordinated with the CPS, since they are in charge of him, as it seems, remember?" Sam reminds him.

"Oh, uh... totally forgot about that one, yeah.," Callen coughs lightly. He really forgot it.

"Well, I can do it," Sam offers, but Callen shakes his head: "No, no... uhm, I'm the leading agent, I do that. I'll just tell Hetty and Marty 'bout the latest findings."

"Sure," Sam shrugs. Callen grimaces. The success suddenly gets a very bitter taste. Damn. He walks over to Hetty's desk where also Marty sits.

"Mr. Callen," Hetty nods at him.

"Still having fun?" he asks, flashing a brief smirk.

"Mr. Deeks' knowledge of cars is impressive. He even managed to hear a Chevrolet Camaro's in a Pontiac Firebird," Hetty snickers.

"Good to hear... uhm... I got some news," Callen licks his lips.

"About Viper?" Marty asks, glancing at him, to which Callen nods: "Yeah, we got him. He confessed the murder. He's been plotting with your... boss... against Carter, because he tried to blackmail him. We also got his other boss."

"The Uncle?" Marty blinks at him.

"Yeah, that one. LAPD is charging him and your boss. We charge Viper for murder, since he shot a Marine," Callen explains. Marty leans back in his chair: "Wow..."

Marty never thought this would happen, till last... no, he doubted that he'd ever... win, is it? That those bastards are put away? That their reign of madness stops? Gee, crap, ain't that a dream?

"That means you're cleared of any charges about the matter," Callen assures.

"What about me stabbing him?" Marty asks.

"It was in self-defense. Even if Mr. Carter's wife would push charges, which I doubt, then this is what any court will confirm after sighting the evidence," Hetty assures.

"Wow... uhm... I mean... thanks, thanks a lot," Marty whispers, still trying to wrap his head around this... he's... free, isn't he? A bit more again?

"Not for that," Callen nods.

"No, I really mean that. You did a lot for me, all of you... and for the kids. You did so much more than I ever thought... And for that I'm thankful," Marty makes it clear. He has to.

"You're welcome, Marty," Callen replies softly. There is a moment of awkward silence between them. Callen licks his lips.

"When are they gonna be here?" the boy asks solemnly.

"Huh?" Callen frowns at him.

"CPS?" Marty blinks at the older man.

"Uhm... I still have to... call them," Callen brings out, surprised that Marty still has that in mind.

"Oh, okay," Marty licks his lips. Last respite.

"Well... uhm... I guess I should...," Callen coughs lightly, running a hand over his face.

"Yeah, uhm, thanks again," Marty nods hastily. Callen grimaces, taking another few seconds before he walks away again. Marty waits until he is out of sight before his features slump.

"Are you alright, Mr. Deeks?" Hetty asks with concern.

"What? Yeah, of course," Marty coughs lightly.

"Well, if you have something against being in foster care, you have to tell us so," Hetty informs him, but he shakes his head vehemently: "What? No, no, no. What else would I do?"

"I think Mr. Callen informed you about your options?" Hetty questions.

"Yeah, no, I know my options. Is just that... I see no point in making a big deal out of it. I just sit out the time till I'm adult and then I... dunno... do something for a living, I suppose," Marty shrugs. What else would he wish for in life? Go to college? Study law? Who is he kidding, right?

"Mr. Deeks, you most certainly have some skills you should embrace – and not just to do _something for a living_," Hetty argues with a smile.

"I'm a homeless runt who didn't attend school since... _ever._ And... doesn't even have insurance... or a valid ID on him... or a living place... or money... or a clean legal record... I can count myself lucky if they let me pack the bags at some supermarket. But I'm fine with that. At least I'm outta that... other shit. That's the most important, I think. No, I know," Marty explains.

"Yet, I hope that you see that we can always strive to become more than what we are. I mean, look at me, Mr. Deeks. Who would think that in my active times I was one of the best spies in the entire world, despite my height?" Hetty argues.

"Anyone who's quite sane in the brain," Marty winks at her. She smirks back at him.

"What's the car?" Hetty asks.

"Subaru. I hate those," Marty shakes his head.

Meanwhile, Callen made his way back to his table and slumps down in his seat.

"You alright?" Sam asks.

"What? Yeah, yeah," Callen sighs.

"G, I really mean it. I can make the call as well," Sam offers.

"Sam, I can handle this, okay?" Callen rolls his eyes. This is his job.

"No doubt, doesn't mean you have to. You and the kid are close, so...," Sam exhales, but Callen interrupts him quite harshly: "Sam, just leave it, okay?"

"Fine, just saying," Sam waves his hands in the air before he picks up the rose he found on his table a few hours back, eying it curiously. His eyes wander around a little further to spot a little note under the table. He grimaces as he reads the instructions he finds on it. He reads it another time before he grabs one of his origami papers and starts to fold it.

Callen meanwhile grabs the phone and dials the number for CPS. Soon, the voice of a young woman hums: "Laura Finley, Child Protection Service Department Los Angeles. How can I help you?"

"Hello Ms. Finley, I'm Special Agent G Callen from NCIS. I think a man by name Eric Beale contacted your agency yesterday because of a raid in a child prostitution ring?" Callen begins.

"One moment... yes, we have an entry in the log," Laura confirms.

"Good, so you are in charge for this situation?" Callen asks.

"No, I'm just the secretary. For specific information, you have to talk to the supervisor," Laura informs him. Callen cocks an eyebrow at that: "So would you get me one of the supervisors?"

"You have to talk to the supervisor _in charge _for specific information," she corrects him. Callen keeps up the smile, though he already rolls his eyes: "Then would you be so polite to connect me with the supervisor _in charge_, then?"

"One moment, please," Laura says. And there goes the music. Callen grunts.

"What?" Kensi frowns. Callen presses the button for loudspeaker and a really nasty song plays: perfectly out of tune and just awful.

"Oh my God, shut that off already!" Kensi cries out, covering her ears. Callen snickers as he presses the button again. He waits another two minutes until the music dies away.

"Mr. Callen?" Laura asks.

"Ms. Finley?" Callen copies.

"Uhm, in the entry it says that the supervisor in charge is Mr. Cole. Shall I connect you to his office or do you wish a personal appointment?" Laura asks. Callen licks his lips: "No, just connect me to him, please, that would be wonderful."

He rolls his eyes. G asked for that five minutes ago.

"Alright, a moment please," she says. The agent waves his hands in the air in exasperation.

"What now?" Kensi grimaces. He pushes the button again – just to unleash another musical abomination. Kensi laughs out loud, hiding underneath the table: "No wonder no one likes those people."

"Yeah, they got it coming with that shit!" Sam shakes his head, covering his ears also. Callen pushes the button again and waits for this chimera to die.

"Hello?" a voice greets.

"Mr. Cole?" Callen asks.

"No, this is Erica Cowl," Erica corrects him. Callen grimaces: "I wanted to speak to a Mr. Cole about a prostitution ring that was blown yesterday. I'm the agent in charge, G Callen?"

"That is not my case, I'm sorry," the woman shakes her head.

"Then could you, perhaps, connect me to Mr. Cole? Ms. Finley said that I have to talk to him?" Callen tries.

"One moment please," she says. And there goes the music yet again. Callen bangs his head on the table.

"Did they put you on a hold again?" Kensi snickers.

"Wrong line," Callen mutters.

"Seriously?" Kensi can't help but laugh. It's just funny that even badass agents like them get into trouble like that.

"If you ask again, I'll put that shit on loudspeaker again. I think my ears are bleeding," Callen mutters. There is a scratching noise on the other end of the line: "Hello? Child Protection Service Los Angeles. Mr. Collin here. What can I do for you?"

"I need to speak to someone who is in charge of the case about the child prostitution ring raid from yesterday," Callen explains quickly.

"That is not my responsibility, I'm sorry," the man shrugs.

"The secretary told me that I'm supposed to call to a Mr. Cole," Callen repeats.

"I'm Andrew Collins," the man informs him.

"And you and Mr. Cole have nothing in common?" Callen sighs.

"Not about the matter," the man grimaces. Just great.

"So okay, your secretary tried to connect me to his office, but got me to a Ms. Cowl, and this Lady connected me to you... can you connect me to Mr. Cole, please? It's urgent," Callen asks, trying to keep up a polite tone, though he is short before losing it.

"Do you have the first name?" the man asks. Seriously?!

"No, don't you have it?" Callen sighs in exasperation.

"We are responsible for the entire Los Angeles district, Sir. That means I don't know all employees by name," Collin replies curtly.

"And I know none of them," Callen argues.

"I'll connect you to the secretary, Ms. Finley," Collin says.

"I just... Okay, thank you," Callen grunts, giving in.

"One moment please," the man says. Callen holds his phone away, already anticipating the musical terror.

"Wrong line again?" Sam huffs with a smirk. Callen glares at him: "This was a Mr. Col_lin_. Of course sounds very much like Mr. Cole. That guy asked me if I know Mr. Cole... coz he didn't!"

"Why don't you just hang up again?" Kensi laughs.

"Just to start all over again? No, don't think so," Callen mutters. He takes out terrorists, he should get a handle on this, really. There is another crack audible.

"Child Protection Service Los Angeles, here is Laura Finley, what can I do for you?" Laura greets again.

"Ms. Finley, Agent Callen again. You connected me to the wrong supervisor," Callen quips, though he tries to stay polite.

"Oh, my apologies, Agent Callen," Laura gasps.

"No problem, now, would you be so kind to connect me to Mr. Cole, and not _Ms_. Cowl or Mr. Col_lin_, or whoever may have a similar name? That would be tremendous," Callen suggests.

"Of course. A moment please," she says. Callen is very tempted to throw the phone against the next best wall.

"I swear to God if they put me on the line for just one more time, I'll drive there and make a shootout!" Callen growls.

"Kensi, hide his weapons," Sam gasps playfully.

"No, I join him. Those people are nuts," Kensi snickers. She had the honor a few times, as Junior Agents you usually get the shit jobs, and she broke a few pencils to relieve her stress. Callen waves the receiver around again as there is suddenly a crack. He hastily guides the phone back to his ear, almost losing it. Kensi snickers to herself.

"Hello?" he asks.

"CPS Los Angeles. Alexander Cole here. What do you want?" a cool voice rings over the phone.

"You are Mr. Cole? For real?" Callen smiles, almost not believing it.

"In fact. What can I do for you?" the man quips.

"Uhm, just so that we understand each other. You are in charge for the raid in the child prostitution ring yesterday? And you were called by someone of the NCIS, Eric Beale?" Callen asks.

"Yes," the man approves.

"Good, uhm, wow, it took me like forever to finally get through to you," Callen smiles, but the man is totally annoyed: "Sir, I'm quite busy, so if you would please cut to the topic?"

"... uhm... yeah, sure, so I'm Agent G Callen from NCIS, I was the leading operative for the raid," he explains.

"Alright," Cole nods.

"Uhm, so... you may have realized that there was... another child who was freed, but was not given into your care... yet," Callen grimaces.

"Yes, in fact. And I have to tell you that this is not the usual procedure, most certainly not, Agent Callen," the man lectures him. No shit, huh?

"He was a witness in a murder case. And his status had to be cleared because at first it looked like he was perhaps the murderer. But that's out of the way now," Callen explains.

"It would have been your obligation to tell us about his whereabouts right from the start. We understand that he was a witness, yet, that doesn't mean you can mess with the procedure, Agent Callen," Cole returns.

"Well, we were kinda busy catching the boss of the prostitution ring before he ran away with the kids in tow to where we wouldn't ever find them again," Callen retorts sarcastically.

"That doesn't change a thing about the fact that you were supposed to contact us. So now... what is the child's stats?" Cole asks, sounding almost bored, is it?

"Uhm, he's fine, I mean...," Callen grimaces, but the man interrupts him: "I mean the basic information so that I can write a report, Agent Callen. Just the briefs."

"Uhm, his name's Marty, I mean... Martin. I guess you'll get a hit under Brandel, but he calls himself Deeks, I think it's the mother's maiden name...," Callen starts to explain, but Cole interrupts him again: "Agent Callen, just the basic things. Full name, age if you have it, and so on."

"... Martin A. Brandel, fifteen years old, lived in the streets since the age of eleven. He went to the Northridge Middle School until then," Callen says.

"Okay," Cole approves.

"He was in hospital after we found him, because of an infected wound. Uhm, he was raped by the man who was killed, as far as we know. So... I don't know, but he'll most likely have to talk to psychologist or so?" Callen grimaces.

"That is something we will decide once we see him," Cole replies coldly.

"Oh, okay, I mean, I was just saying," Callen frowns.

"Agent Callen, you have your field, we have ours. We know how the job is done," Cole quips.

"No doubt. I never said something else," Callen bites his lower lip.

"Where is he at the moment?" Cole carries on with his interrogation.

"Over at the NCIS, with my team and me," Callen explains.

"Okay... let's see... yeah, someone will come down later the day to pick him up. It might take a while, we're busy because of the other children," Cole explains. Callen nods: "Uhm, take your time. We take care of him until you get there."

"All the same to me. Just make sure he is there when we come. We can't have more setbacks. We will give you a call once they come to pick him up," Cole nods.

"Uhm... okay, sure... thank you," Callen grimaces.

"Goodbye," he hangs up. Callen shakes his head before he puts the receiver back down.

"And?" Kensi frowns.

"They come pick him up if they find the time," Callen sighs. He waves his hands in the air: "Asshole."

Kensi and Sam smirk at each other.

"What?" he turns to them.

"Nothing," Sam chuckles.

"Whatever," Callen grunts.

Sam holds up the origami figure he worked on – a perfectly folded rose. He smirks at his own piece of work and sets it down next to the other rose. Marty walks over to them.

"Hey, Marty. Did you win the game?" Kensi smiles at him.

"I think she only played it with me coz she wanted to distract me... so it wasn't really about who wins..," Marty shrugs. All look at him rather stunned.

"I'm young, but I'm not stupid," he returns. Kensi smirks to herself. She doesn't know how Callen was like as a kid, but she pictures him to be about as witty as that little guy.

"Someone comes to pick me up?" Marty asks, turning to Callen.

"... yeah. They said it could take a while, though," Callen grimaces.

"Already guessed as much. They must be going crazy coz they finally got work to do," Marty smirks.

"Well, they already struggle with phone calls...," Callen shrugs. Marty walks over to Kensi's table and hands her the notepad and pen he gave her when the played cards.

"Huh?" she cocks an eyebrow at him.

"Is yours. I'm taking off in the next couple of hours... days... years... you know, for as long as it takes them to get here," Marty shrugs.

"You can keep it if you want. We get those for free to write reports on," she says with a soft smile.

"You sure?" Marty blinks at her. Kensi winks at him: "Absolutely."

"Cool," he smiles brightly. So cute, Kensi silently thinks to herself, but then she has an idea: "But gimme that for only just a sec."

He hands it over to her and she scribbles something on it. Once she is done, she turns it back around. It's a phone number and a smiley underneath: "Maybe you gimme a call once you're acquainted or if you're just bored outta your mind?"

Marty looks visibly taken aback by the gesture.

"Sure," he brings out.

"Great... Callen, you, too?" she wiggles the pad at G, who frowns: "What?"

"Putting down your number?" Kensi suggests. Callen nods hastily: "Yeah, sure, gimme that."

Marty hands him the pad also. Callen puts down his cell number, his house number and the one connecting him directly to his desk at the NCIS.

"Kinda reminds me of yearbook madness back at High School," Kensi snickers.

"You didn't put down an inscription on this one," Callen argues.

"Back at High School I wrote the most creative ones," Kensi snickers at the memory.

"Like?" Callen knits his eyebrows at her.

"If you can read this:_ Congratulations, you can actually read_," Kensi smiles.

"Aw," Callen shakes his head. That is... not nice?

"_You got something up your nose... and I think it's alive_," Kensi carries on.

"Oh," Sam shakes his head.

"_I know where you live_," Kensi shrugs.

"That is creepy," Callen shakes his head.

"Exactly. God, I hated those people who just wanted everyone to sign their stupid yearbook even though they didn't even know the people they gave it to sign. Someone had to get back at them somehow," Kensi snickers.

"By threatening them?" Callen frowns.

"Oh, I wrote better stuff with the cheerleaders," Kensi smiles viciously.

"Yeah?" Callen frowns.

"_Shut up and die_. _How's the new nose daddy gave you for Christmas_? _Already looking forward to being cashier at_ Seven'Eleven? _And for my favorite cheerleader captain – I think you should take on a new hobby – eating food_," Kensi snickers.

"That's awful," Callen shakes his head.

"You know how cheerleader girls are – they definitely deserve to be taught a lesson here and there," Kensi shakes her head.

"That's true... Sam?" Callen turns to his partner, wiggling the pad at him also.

"Oh yeah, give that to me," Sam nods. Marty walks over to him and lets him scribble his number on it, too. He points at Sam's self-made rose.

"Looks cool," he smiles. Sam gesticulates for Marty to come a little closer: "Thanks for the original and the manual."

Marty looks at him rather surprised.

"I'm an agent. I know when someone puts stuff on my table that's not mine... but thanks," he grins. Marty smirks back at him.

"Only figure I can," he shrugs. Sam slides the pad over to him along with the pen.

"Thanks for that," the boy says as he takes it. They mean it. They really do, don't they?

"Maybe you should ask Hetty for her number as well. Then you two can continue to guess cars," Sam suggests with a wink.

"Oh, she already gave me her card," Marty nods.

"Something we can do for you?" Kensi asks softly.

"What? No, I got everything. Thanks," Marty replies in a gentle voice. He got more than he ever bargained for.

"Just don't bother to ask, alright?" Kensi winks at him.

"Sure... okay, uhm, I gotta get my stuff back together. Is there a corner where I can?" Marty asks. Kensi points towards the lounge area: "Over there's a couch with table."

"Alright, thanks," Marty nods. He then trots over to the lounge and settles down. Once he is out of eavesdrop, Kensi turns in her chair: "Can't we just keep him as a mascot?"

"Kensi!" Callen hisses.

"What? He's adorable!" Kensi exclaims.

"And he needs to be taken into good care. And that's what CPS is there for," Callen lectures her.

"If they get a hold on him," Kensi huffs.

"Yeah... well... that's not within our reach anymore," Callen shrugs.

"I know... but still," she sighs. Really, work was much more fun with the little guy around.

"Give it up already," Callen shakes his head.

"I mean, if he got a family and all, he could come by!" Kensi argues.

"This is a federal agency, Kensi, no kindergarten," Callen grumbles, though he often feels like it.

"Poor sport," Kensi mutters theatrically.

"Realist is what you call it," Callen snorts.

"I stick to poor sport," Kensi mutters.

"Just return to the reports, Kensi," Callen sighs.

"You were funnier before the call," Kensi whispers as she focuses on the reports again. With that the three agents continue to work on their paperwork. Time passes as suddenly Callen gets a text.

"CPS?" Kensi asks curiously.

"Huh? No, it's Eric," Callen grimaces.

"New case?" Sam frowns.

"No, he has to tell me something, dunno. You keep it up with the reports. I'll be right back," Callen says. He gets up and makes his way upstairs into the ops room, where the analyst is already waiting for him, nervousness visible in his features.

"Hey, whazzup?" Callen asks.

"Uhm, well...," Eric licks his lips.

"And where did you leave Nell at?" Callen glances around. Normally you can't separate those two by any means. Kensi once remarked that they are just like conjoined twins at times. So yeah, to find Eric without Nell... that's weird.

"I sent her to find you guys a new case," Eric says with growing discomfort.

"Okay, weird," Callen knits his eyebrows.

"I needed to talk to you, in private," Eric continues, fidgeting with his remote.

"Alright...," Callen squints one eye shut. Eric quickly checks if the door is closed, visibly tense.

"Eric, what now? If it's about the spam I had on my account this one time, I swear to God it was Sam who wanted to google recipes on my computer," Callen gesticulates, but Eric shakes his head: "Nothing like that. No."

"Eric, just shoot already. I don't have all the time in the world, okay?" Callen quips, losing his temper. He doesn't have the time or nerves for that, really.

"Okay, okay, okay...," Eric waves his hands in the air.

"Eric, what's wrong?" Callen questions.

"Well, you remember the... the DNA scan... for... Marty?" Eric brings out.

_"Yeah?"_ Callen narrows his eyes.

"And that we also looked at Marty's...," Eric's voice trails off.

"Sure, coz we were still looking for his relatives by the time," Callen shrugs. He asked him for it after all, so what's the point here?

"Well... uhm...," Eric fidgets for the words.

"What now, Eric?" Callen sighs.

"I just sent it through the entire system, like... all systems I could find," Eric carries on.

"So what?" Callen questions.

"We found a... living relative," Eric bites his lower lip.

_"Really?"_ Callen blinks at him. Eric nods his head, but rather distraught. Callen's frown only deepens. Just why isn't he cheerful about his success, really? Normally, Eric would boast about how amazing his research was, but now... he couldn't look more scared than he does at this moment.

"Who?" Callen asks. Eric silences.

"Eric, who?" Callen demands. Just what the hell is the analyst up to?

"That's the complicated part," Eric grimaces.

"Eric, if there's someone we can contact, shoot already! Once he's with CPS, things will only end up being a mess, so tell me already so that I can get this clarified. Who is it?" Callen questions forcefully.

"... you," Eric brings out in a shaky eyes.

"What?" Callen stars.

"You," Eric repeats, now with a bit more force in his voice.

"What me?" Callen squints, still not getting it.

"You... are... the living relative the system came up with. _You,"_ Eric says.

"What?!" Callen gapes with wide eyes. That can't be true, no, that must be a joke. _What the hell_?! Callen feels the air knocked out of his lungs, the world's spinning, turning.

"Well, we ran it through the entire system, so... also, NCIS files. We got your DNA scans in the database, as agents... and Marty's sample popped up with you as a fifty percent match. That means you're half brothers...," Eric explains. Both men fall silent, staring at each other.

_More than a twist of fate._


	8. Cheers To The Family

Author's Note: Okay, I hope that this turn was not as predictable as I feared it might have been... I hope you were positively surprised. After all, I wanted to stand up to my title ;) That being said, thank you for your great support, it's really motivating me to keep going and edit all those chapters for you to read. You make it very much worthwhile and so much more fun. So okay, I hope you'll enjoy this one also. Review and/ or read, whatever you like best ;)

* * *

Callen still stares at Eric with huge eyes.

"... but how's that possible? I mean, are you really sure?" Callen asks frantically. That just doesn't fit into his brain, won't get past the fibers of tissue, won't get through to the center. How, in any possible world... is that even possible?!

"The lab ran the tests five times in a row... always with the same result," Eric confirms.

"And it's not possible that they just took the wrong samples?" Callen argues, but Eric shakes his head at him: "Your DNA scan is in our system ever since you joined NCIS, and I already demanded upon second try a new sample for Marty... and for the third try I sent them another sample I took from him myself. And that was tested two times. Always the same result."

"... that's...," Callen means to say something, but the words die on his lips. There are no words to describe it, and even if there were... Callen forgot about them.

"I would've informed you sooner, but I wanted to wait for the last result, just to be on the safe side before I...," Eric grimaces. Callen manages to nod: "Yeah, yeah... I mean... the hell..."

"Callen," Eric wants to say something to soothe him, but Callen quickly takes the lead: "Does... did you tell Marty?! I mean, when you took a sample?! Oh God, and I just..."

"Marty knows nothing. I said that the hospital lost his sample. So even if he may be suspicious, no way he knows about that. And I didn't lose a word about it to him since," Eric assures him quickly. Callen sighs with relief. Really, that would have been... whatever word it is he can't remember for this situation, times ten.

"So... does anyone know? Other than you?" Callen grimaces.

"No, I wanted to let you know first," Eric shakes his head.

"That's why you sent Nell away?" Callen concludes.

"I thought this was a private matter, so I thought it'd be best to... well... talk to you first, alone," Eric nods.

"Okay, uhm... yeah... thanks, I mean...," Callen runs a hand over his face, still trying to regain focus, even if he knows this is more than futile.

"I'm sorry that I'm the one breaking the news to you, is just...," Eric exhales, but Callen waves at him: "No, no, I'm glad that... ugh... I... I just gotta talk to Hetty. Yeah, should talk to her. Right."

"Sure...," Eric grimaces. Callen heads out of the room, leaving the analyst stunned. The Senior Agent frantically searches for Hetty, who is sitting at her desk.

"Hetty?" he demands harsher than he had estimated.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Callen," she frowns, studying his face.

"I gotta have conversation with you... in private. Right now," Callen brings out, running a hand over the back of his head in nervousness.

"Mr. Callen?" she blinks at him.

"Hetty, please. Right now," Callen begs almost. Hetty grimaces for a second, but then gets up from her chair. If G Callen is that distressed... be sure there is a reason for it. They go into a private room.

"So, Mr. Callen, what is the matter here?" Hetty asks.

"I...," Callen licks his lip. How do you say that? Ugh... oh, right, pick one of the words he can't remember to describe this... what was it again?

"Yes?" Hetty cocks an eyebrow at him. She never saw him that confused. She saw him angry, sad, distant, all those things, but never this... desperate, confused... she can't put her finger on it, and honestly? Hetty starts to feel more than just concerned.

"Mr. Callen, now gather yourself and tell me what happened," she demands calmly.

"Uhm... chaos. Madness. Total madness. Chaotic madness," Callen exclaims, throwing his hands in the air, twisting around on the heel.

"Pardon?" Hetty knits her eyebrows at the man.

"Friggin' shit! This is madness! Madness!" Callen curses.

"Mr. Callen, you will calm down, right now. I don't understand a thing you say," Hetty orders sternly. Callen looks at her for a few seconds, some of his tension deflating: "I'm sorry. This is just..."

"It's okay. So now, I ask you again, Mr. Callen: What is so urgent that you want to discuss it with me in private – and then get so upset. The last time you were about as shocked, you thought Mr. Hanna was caught in an explosion he gladly wasn't," Hetty grimaces, even though Callen looks even more freaked than he did that time, and it was one of the few occasions G had cried, so... this is bad.

"I know, I know. It's just... It's... the... the DNA scan we ran on Marty to find his relatives...," Callen begins.

"What about it?" Hetty frowns.

"... we found a match," Callen brings out, biting his lower lip painfully.

"For a relative? A living one?" Hetty cocks her head. Aren't those good news?

"So to speak...," Callen grimaces.

"Mr. Callen?" she blinks at him.

"... I'm the next best match...," Callen swallows.

"Pardon?" Hetty's eyes widen. Did he just say what she thinks she heard him say?

"Eric says fifty percent of the DNA match... that means I'm Marty's... half-brother," Callen stammers. Hetty glances at the wall for a few seconds gathering herself. She is usually the one to always predict all big mysteries, but she would have to lie if she said that she knew about this. No, not even remotely so. She had no clue. And she still can't quite wrap her head around this.

Hetty: "Oh... that is of course... a... strange situation...," she brings out. And both know it's the understatement of understatements.

"Strange?! This is insane!" Callen exclaims.

"You could call it like that also," Hetty shrugs sympathetically.

"I mean... how high are the chances that I meet my real half-brother whom I didn't know about on a case...," Callen shakes his head.

"One out of a billion... maybe two billion?" she frowns. She never bothered about statistics much anyways... and those are things that probably never turn up in statistics because they are just _so_ unlikely.

"Insane!" Callen sums it up again.

"Call it as you like, Mr. Callen," Hetty sighs.

"That is... I don't even know what that is!" Callen exclaims, throwing his hands in the air, finding no spot to keep them. His body just as to move.

"And Mr. Beale is sure?" Hetty questions.

"Yeah, he ran the tests couple of times, even with new samples. It's... true," Callen confirms.

"I see," she exhales. Wow. Simply... wow.

"So what do you want to do now?" she asks after a while.

"What? What do I want to do now?! I don't know what I want to do! You tell me what I'm supposed to do!" Callen stammers.

"Mr. Callen, I don't know and I won't tell you what you are supposed to do, because you're not _supposed_ to do anything. I'm just asking what steps you intend to take now," Hetty says clamly.

"Hetty, I don't know, okay!? Up until five minutes ago, Marty was gonna leave and that would've been it!" Callen cries out. Really, it was supposed to be a job. And he knows this job already hit too close to home, but that's a whole new level of... close to home. It's right in the living room!

"Exactly," Hetty nods.

"So?" Callen frowns at her.

"Now is the question if you still want that," Hetty explains, but Callen won't get it: "What?"

"Mr. Callen, if I may speak openly to you," Hetty asks tentatively.

"Please!" Callen pleads. That is just what he needs: honesty, a clear opinion, a mainframe, a scaffold, something to hold on to.

"... well, as I see things, there is two options. You can let social service take Mr. Deeks under their care. That means no responsibilities and...," Hetty's voice trails off, but Callen completes: "No contact. I might never see him again, according to where they send him."

"Quite right. You carry on as if nothing ever happened, you return to the usual routine, and Mr. Deeks does that also," Hetty nods.

"... And the other option?" Callen licks his lips.

"... well...," she grimaces. Callen turns to her: "Hetty, just tell me. My mind's not properly working now."

"Well, Mr. Callen... now you are in the position that you have a legal right to take Mr. Deeks in, as his half-brother, if you wish that," Hetty explains.

"Take him... _in,"_ Callen looks at her incredulously.

"Which you did in the course of the investigation as well," Hetty returns.

"For a _night,"_ Callen retorts defensively.

"Mr. Callen, you wanted to know the options. Those are the options. You either embrace your right, or you make no use of it," Hetty explains.

"I... I'm an agent! I mean, I'm never at my apartment. The hell! You threw me out coz I sneaked around the NCIS coz I wouldn't get myself a place in the beginning! I can't cook. I'm not even good with children. When Sam took me over for that barbecue with his family when his kids were still small... I made them cry!" Callen exclaims exasperated.

"And Mr. Deeks is well past that age by now," Hetty argues with a hint of a smirk on her lips.

"So what now? I'm still an agent! Now I'm supposed to take in some teenager I barely know?!" Callen questions. How would he possibly do that? Callen already found a pet too much responsibility and feared he might kill it by not tending to it properly. How would it be with a friggin' human being?!

"Mr. Callen, you're not _supposed_ to do anything, as I already said. It is solely up to you to decide what you intend to do. All I can say is that from my perspective that you're an agent won't be the biggest of issues," Hetty says calmly, but Callen is too busy being exasperated to realize that she is actually doing so to calm him also: "Why?!"

"Mr. Hanna is also an agent – and he has children as well," Hetty shrugs.

"And a wife. And a house. And relatives. I'd be what? Single parent... brother... caretaker... I don't even know what you call it!" Callen cries out.

"Does it really take a name to decide on this?" Hetty argues, now feeling a bit offended. Really, it doesn't take a name, does it?

"No, it's just... this is just so insane! I never had a family, you know that, Hetty – I don't even know what that's like to have a family-family, not as in my working-family I got with the team," Callen admits. Hetty nods: "Yes, I know indeed."

"I have practically no experience with this!" Callen exclaims, dread pulling at him. He isn't a lone wolf for nothing. He didn't know his parents, obviously, or he may have caught on his half-brother some time sooner. Ever since he can remember, he was in foster families and foster houses and was just a brooding teenager who was mad at the world. It took him a long and tiresome time to arrive at the point where he is now, where he has people close to him, people like Sam or Kensi or Hetty. But he also knows that he is not always giving proper reactions and rather keeps things to himself. So really, he has no experience.

"... well, that either means that you are plainly not used to it... or... that this might be your only shot of learning about your real family, get a taste of what that is like, as far as I see things," Hetty argues.

"But what if, hypothetically, I messed up big time?! Coz I don't know better?!" Callen exclaims. And that doesn't mean that he would potentially... well, it does kinda mean that he would, but Callen can't do that, can he?

"Mr. Callen, that, for instance, is a quite normal fear for any parent," Hetty replies in a calm voice.

"And what about Marty anyways?! He's got enough to deal with! And now he gets that in his face as well if I tell him?! I mean, what if he doesn't want that or... or is disappointed that it's me of all people! Or... I don't know what!" Callen exclaims, to which Hetty holds up her hands in a calming way: "Mr. Callen, anyone can see that Mr. Deeks likes you. I doubt that he would be utterly disappointed."

"It doesn't matter! He might! And... and I end up being the bad guy coz I break the news to him, damn!" he bows his head.

"Why would you be the bad guy, Mr. Callen?" Hetty questions.

"Because basically, I let him down all this time!" Callen admits.

"Mr. Callen, now you're being ridiculous. You and I both know that you could not possibly know about that – and I'm most certainly convinced that Mr. Deeks would be the last one to blame you for this very matter!" Hetty shakes her head.

"But... now I end up being the guy to destroy his world picture all over! That kid needs stability! More than anything else! And what if he... what if he has a breakdown because of that?! What if he runs off or... or...," Callen curses. His mind already produces all those dark pictures of what Marty might do to "deal" with this.

"We can hypothesize about this all day long and won't reach any result, Mr. Callen. I'm sorry," Hetty returns.

"I know, I know! But... but that's... ugh!" Callen grunts. He knows he is being ridiculous. He knows that this isn't getting them anywhere, but he just can't stop.

"I'm sorry that you are so suddenly confronted with this, Mr. Callen. I know that you rather have a good plan, just like Mr. Hanna, but what you have to see is that you have to make a decision... quite fast," Hetty bites her lower lip.

"... because CPS will come take him today...," Callen says, as realization dawns on him. He just called CPS. They will come take Marty... from him.

"Quite right. And I think it would be worse for Mr. Deeks to know about your relationship – and then be sent away than it would be to leave on good terms, that is of course my opinion, but...," Hetty grimaces, but Callen agrees: "No, you're right on that one. He'd feel as though no one wants him... all over again. I can't do that to him. So it's either that... I tell him... or I don't... and I never get to see him again."

"Exactly," Hetty nods. Callen's features sag together as the realization finally sinks in: "What do I do? What do I do now?!"

"I wish I could make the decision for you, Mr. Callen, but that is something you have to decide for yourself," Hetty exhales, grimacing sympathetically. She knows G Callen, or at least she says to herself that she does. And she knows that he struggles with such personal decisions. G Callen took months and a lot of (forced) help to get himself an apartment. Even if the agent cares deeply about his friends and teammates, he rather lives a life on his own, where everything follows a certain order. But now... there is just chaos.

"And for Marty. And that's the point that upsets me. Up until now everyone's been making the decisions for him – and now I might be the one to make them for him all over again," Callen mutters.

"Well, you won't come around making a decision at some point, Mr. Callen," Hetty sighs.

"I know," Callen grumbles. He knows all this, rationally, but emotionally... he couldn't be more of an oblivious fool.

"So... what do you intend to do, Mr. Callen?" Hetty asks.

"... Right now I would just love to run away... or leave the country... I got a friend over in Croatia I could pay a visit, for like... a few years? Or my safe haven in Alaska, a nice cabin, no electronic devices... could just get away," Callen mutters, flashing a brief smirk.

"But?" Hetty cocks an eyebrow at him.

"I can't just do that," Callen shakes his head.

"So what?" Hetty questions tentatively.

"... I... this needs to be discussed... I... I can't just leave him in the open... he deserves the truth.," Callen says, now with more confidence. He can't leave him in the open, not about this. Enough people have lied to him. And Callen doesn't want to be the next on on that list.

"If there is something I can help you with...," Hetty offers, to which Callen, surprisingly, nods: "Actually."

"Yes?" she cocks an eyebrow at him. Normally, he would have declined any support, which shows just how deeply this is affecting him.

"For that I would ask you for a favor," Callen bites his lower lip.

"Anything," she assures.

"... I don't know if I get it out, like... uhm... that we're... related. I don't think I can do this," he admits, his voice almost breaking. He hardly got it out in front of Hetty. Callen can't imagine that to be any different in front of Marty.

"I can tell Mr. Deeks about the facts, of course, but about your decision you'll have to tell him yourself," Hetty argues.

"Yeah, I know... is just... I don't even know where to start...," Callen admits, allowing weakness to show. He has no clue. How do you tell someone you don't know, a teenager?

"Maybe I find the right words. Or you find them once we are started... So... I think we should act fast. We don't want this to collide with CPS showing up, or else this will be even more of an issue," Hetty suggests calmly.

"Right. Yeah, right. Right. Right...," Callen replies frantically. Hetty walks up to him and pats his lower arm.

"You have my support, Mr. Callen, for either decisions you're going to make," Hetty assures. Callen blinks at her: "Thanks..."

"Then shall we?" Hetty asks, to which he nods: "Yeah..."

Hetty nods as well before she walks ahead to the lounge area. Marty is sitting on it, still going through his things. Upon hearing the two people approaching he looks up to them with curious eyes.

"Mr. Deeks," she greets him with a warm smile.

"... are they already there?" he asks cautiously.

"CPS? No," Hetty shakes her head.

"Oh... okay... uhm... then what is this? You look kinda... uhm... tensed?" Marty grimaces. Normally, team leader and boss coming to see you means bad stuff to happen.

"May I?" Hetty points at the spot beside him on the couch.

"Of course, is your office, after all...," Marty replies hastily, flashing a brief smile.

"Thank you. Mr. Callen?" Hetty smiles as she settles down beside him. She motions to Callen to do the same, but he just waves off. No way he can sit down now. His body feels as though it was electrified.

"So...?" the boy looks at him with huge eyes.

"Mr. Callen and I have to discuss something with you," she begins.

"Okay...," Marty's voice trails off. _Yeah,_ this is bad news. But what now? Is he getting charged after all?

"Uhm... it's something personal," Hetty grimaces.

"... okay, sure...," Marty frowns, his hands flexing uncontrollably.

"I know you don't like to... talk about your parents," Hetty begins calmly.

"Yeah," Marty nods. Understatement of earth's time.

"But maybe you can share that one thing with us, to get to the point," Hetty suggests. Marty looks at her, studies her, then gives the faintest of nods.

"Do you know if your father or mother... had... uhm... children other than you? You don't have to answer, at all. Just if you feel like answering it," Hetty assures, but Marty just shrugs at this: "Not that I know of. My mother... I really don't think... she was really young when she had me... my father... He's never said something about it... I mean... there could be... like... uhm... he once said that he did sperm donation during college times, to get some money... so... it's possible that someone... ugh... took his donation and had a baby with it? I don't know. But why are you asking me this?"

"Well, Mr. Deeks. The issue is that...," she licks her lips, visibly struggling as well. She lets out a sigh, trying to regain her focus: "... I'm sorry. That normally doesn't happen to me..."

Marty grimaces at her.

"I'm... well, still looking for the right words...," she admits.

"Is someone charging me for something I did the last years? I thought I...," Marty brings out, voice quivering. Hetty quickly assures: "No, no, Mr. Deeks, nothing like that."

The teenager is visibly tensing up, kneading his hands painfully.

"Or something about my parents? I mean...," Marty stammers. Please, they didn't find out, did they? They _mustn't_ have, no!

"Not directly," Hetty grimaces.

"What does that mean?" Marty frowns incredulously. It either involves his parents or it doesn't. How could there possibly a middle way?

"Well, Mr. Deeks, we... uhm... after we found you, we ran a... DNA scan, for both the... sperm in you... and for you to maybe learn something about your past," Hetty begins.

"Why me?" Marty frowns.

"Up to that point we were convinced that you wouldn't talk to us at all, since you refused to talk to police all the while before, which is why we thought it would be necessary to maybe find a relative of yours on our own behalf, if there was one," Hetty tells him.

"... And Carter was related to me, now that you tested the... sperm and... my DNA? Or... this is... I mean...," Marty stammers. No, please. That can't be, can it? Oh God! Marty has to try hard not to gag.

"No, Mr. Deeks, you're misunderstanding me," Hetty grimaces. She never came up with _that_ scenario. The tension inside the teenager grows to horror in seconds.

"That has nothing to do with the case," Hetty assures quickly.

"Then why are you discussing that with me? Am I the new case now?" Marty asks, voice quivering.

"No, Mr. Deeks," Hetty shakes her head. Callen looks at the teenager who is short before shock. This doesn't work. Even though Hetty is trying her best... Callen knows _he_ has to move. G gathers all his courage and breaks out of his stasis. He quickly makes his way over to Marty and sits down on the table right in front of him.

"We searched for living relatives. And we had a hit," Callen explains, folding his hands over his knees, just like Marty, he notes. As he starts to speak, the teenager focuses solely on Callen, hearing every single word he says, his features still tense, but way less than before.

"According to the tests... there is a half-brother," Callen admits. And damn, it came out faster and steadier than he had ever thought.

"What? Half-brother?" Marty stares at him, his mind not working. What?

"That means a sibling who shares one of your parents," Callen explains.

"I... got... a sibling... a half-brother...," Marty repeats, trying to make it reality for himself. He has a brother, for real?

"_I_'m... your half-brother," G tells him again. Marty stares at him in shock, so shocked that he doesn't even manage to gape at him.

"I only got the results today, a few minutes ago. Eric ran a check on all DNA samples available, and we, as NCIS, all gave it at some point, for our file... that's how we know," Callen offers a lopsided smile.

"Is that why he asked me for another sample?" Marty frowns.

"Yeah," Callen nods.

"... okay... and... what does that mean now?" Marty questions, trying to regain focus. Really, what does that mean now?

"Now's the question how we wanna handle that... new situation," Callen says, to which the teenager can only frown again: "Huh?"

"Well, technically I'm your relative. That means... uhm...," Callen grimaces.

"That means that Mr. Callen could legally take you in," Hetty jumps in.

"That means there is the choice between foster family or... well... _me._ As your half-brother I have a right to... give you shelter," Callen licks his lips, studying Marty's face for a reaction. What will he say? What will he think about it?

"So... you... what do you want to do with me now?" Marty asks. Callen shakes his head: _"What?"_

"Uhm... what do you want to do with me now? Like... what do you want me to do?" Marty asks confused.

"I want to know what you want. Do you want to go into a foster family or foster house... or do you want to stay with me?" Callen questions.

"But that depends on what you want," Marty insists.

"Marty, I wanna know what _you_ want, what you'd personally prefer. To go to a foster family, away from all this, or, well, uh, stay with me," Callen asks.

"But... that's up to _you_ to decide," Marty shakes his head. Really, just why is he asking him this? That is not up to him to say, is it?

"No, Marty. It's your life," Callen says. Marty has to try hard not to gasp at that. He told that himself, every single day to pull through somehow, but this is the first time in his life that someone actually said it to him: This is his life. His. And no one else's.

"And yours. If I... then you'd have to change... a lot... and... that's your... choice," Marty argues nevertheless. Even if it's his life... that affects the agent's life also, quite obviously.

"Leave that aside for a second," Callen says, to which Marty only shakes his head: "I can't."

"What do you want, Marty?" Callen asks.

"You gotta tell me what you want first," Marty insists.

"Marty, just speak your mind. No one's judging you for it. I'm not," Callen assures.

"But...," Marty stammers, but Callen intervenes in a soft voice: "What do you want?"

"I don't know," Marty sighs. No one's ever asked him that, at least no one said it and meant it. How would he know what he wants in life? Up until now, Marty lived from day-to-day. Daring to dream of a future is a luxury he knew he didn't have. And now? Now he's supposed to know what he wants? He doesn't. As much as he hates it... others made the decisions for him, the big ones. He just chose how to react, but now... now someone, his... half-brother... asks for him to act. Now what the hell?!

"I know this is a lot on you now," Callen grimaces sympathetically.

"And you," Marty insists.

"So it's a lot on both of us," Callen chuckles softly.

"I guess what Mr. Callen means to say is that we understand your confusion and hesitance, yet... I'm sorry that we may have to urge you, Mr Deeks, as much as I hate to do that in such a situation. If you have any intention to stay with Mr. Callen, there are some steps we have to take, most importantly to clarify Mr. Callen's status as one of your kin. Otherwise, it'll grow into a battle of judges and lawyers about who is allowed to take care of you – and that is something I think you agree we don't want," Hetty explains.

"This is insane," Marty exhales. Hetty smirks: "Mr. Callen pointed out just that."

"So, Marty, what do you think?" Callen asks.

"I can't," Marty shakes his head.

"Yes, you can. It's okay," Callen assures.

"But...," Marty stammers, but Callen interrupts him: "Marty, look at me."

The teenager focuses on him.

"It's okay," G says in a calming voice. Marty focuses on him for a while and eases at that: "... I... I... I like it here, and... and the people... and, well, you... seem nice, too. You did so much for me and... and not just coz of... your own benefit and... I mean... this sounds just stupid."

"It does not, Mr. Deeks," Hetty smiles.

"You're the first nice people I've met in ages... and...," the boy looks G right in the eye: "I trust you. I didn't trust anyone for... for like... forever. That's been... nice for a change?"

Callen offers a gentle smile. He knows how much that must mean to Marty.

"So... If it's okay, I'd really, really like to stay, but only if it's okay for you. I mean... that is... ugh... I don't know, whole new level of weird and... work. I mean, you're busy man and... and...," Marty stammers nervously, but Callen holds up his hands: "... We'll figure this out, somehow."

"But... I mean... if... what about you?" Marty blinks at the older man.

"I'm fine with it," Callen says, and he is surprised himself how fast he got that out... and that it feels incredibly right.

"I...," Marty bites his lower lip.

"I... hoped you were gonna say that, actually," Callen admits with a soft smile.

"I suppose this is decided, then?" Hetty asks.

"Guess so," Callen shrugs... is it _really_ that simple?

"Good, so I have to make a call to CPS – to tell them to go to hell," Hetty snickers.

"The guy's Mr. Cole, not Cowl, not Collin. The secretary is likely to mess with it," Callen informs her.

"Oh, we will see about that... no one puts _me_ on a hold," Hetty smirks darkly. With that the petite Lady leaves the room.

"Wow... that's the turn I saw least coming," Marty shakes his head, running a shaky hand over the back of his head.

"Yeah, with you on that one," Callen exhales.

"Well, uhm... guess even a guy like me can get... lucky once in a while," Marty whispers.

"Well, you saw how I live, so maybe not as lucky. I think I'm totally gonna suck as... half-brother...," Callen admits. At least he should give Marty a fair warning.

"You're messy. I ain't, so I don't think that's the point.," Marty shrugs.

"And I can't cook, as you know," Callen adds.

"I'm pretty good at pancakes... and there's always a takeaway service somewhere," Marty manages to smile.

"Yeah, well, uh... I guess it'll just take some time for us to get acquainted," Callen grimaces.

"Hope we manage," Marty whispers faintly. He is afraid that Callen will grow tired of him, but... but now... those guys surprised him, flashed his mind. Marty wants to dare to put trust in them, invest in them. Maybe those guys, maybe his _half-brother_ will not deceive his hopes, will not deceive him.

"I think we can... we _will,"_ Callen replies. That is when G suddenly feels something gently grabbing his hand. He looks at his palm to see Marty's hand on his. He looks back up to see him shyly smirking at him. Callen presses back before smiling back at him quite broadly. G knows what it means to Marty to hold his hand, after all, he doesn't like body contact with men altogether. That he does this now is his way of showing his trust and appreciation. And suddenly he feels a connection he didn't think could grow that fast actually. Affection... and is that love? He is not sure, but if it is... not all too bad.

They sit there for a while, not talking, not looking, just sitting, taking in each other's presence.

* * *

"Okay, I think is time we break the news to the team. I bet they'll delighted to hear that you'll stick around," Callen smirks after a while.

"Really?" Marty frowns.

"Kensi already thought about keeping you as a mascot. You grew on us, that's it," Callen winks at him.

"... wow," Marty shakes his head, glancing at the ground. They even cared _before, so_ much? Those guys might really be... worth the dare.

"C'mon," Callen nods towards the bullpen. The two make their way back to the others.

"G? You okay? You seemed a little upset before?" Sam asks with concern in his voice.

"Yeah, no, I'm fine," Callen nods hastily. He surely gave one helluva impression, running around like a fussing hen.

"What was the business?" Sam questions.

"Uhm... I guess I gotta make an announcement," Callen says with a smirk.

"What now? Do I have to be scared? Or rather... do I have to get my gun out?" Kensi jokes.

"No," Callen rolls his eyes.

"That makes me scared," Kensi grimaces.

"Kensi, let him talk," Sam sighs.

"I'm just saying, if it is about lower payment I...," Kensi mutters, but Sam interrupts her: "Kensi, shut up."

"I shut up now, fine. Callen, go ahead," she smiles at him.

"Right, now don't leave us in the open anymore. What's the deal?" Sam says.

"Okay, okay, uhm... so... Marty and I are... half-brothers," Callen declares. The two stare daggers at him: "What?!"

"Eric informed me that the DNA test we ran on Marty came back with me as a possible living relative. We are half-brothers," Callen explains.

"But I thought that you had no family anymore," Sam shakes his head. No, he knows that. G told him.

"Well, we are _half_-brothers. We seemingly had the same father, but grew up differently," Callen offers. That is the only fitting explanation.

"Your father?" Kensi scrunches her nose.

"We suspect sperm donation," Callen shrugs.

"Oh, oh wow...," Kensi bites her lower lip... now that is an unexpected turn.

"Well, so, hereby I announce that Marty's gonna stay with me now," Callen smirks.

"Really?" Kensi's eyes almost pop out of their sockets in joy.

"Hetty's already making arrangements so that CPS can go to hell, but as a blood relative, I have a right to take him in," Callen explains. Kensi gets up.

"Is it okay if I congratulate?" she asks tentatively.

_"Congratulate?"_ Callen frowns at her. It's not like this is an achievement, is it?

"Yeah! You just got a family member, Callen, congratulations to that," she breaks out with a smile. She knows that he never had the luxury of a real family, but now... he might have a shot at this. She gives him a quick hug.

"Thanks," G smiles. Sam also got up to shake hands with his partner, just to whisper: "Told you."

"Shut up," Callen punches him in the arm playfully. Kensi gets down to press a soft hand against Marty's shoulder with a wink.

"But I may warn you, Marty. Callen is kinda sociopath, at times," Kensi snickers.

"Hey!" Callen exclaims.

"Kensi, now don't scare the kid," Sam lectures her.

"It's the truth. He is nuts. So if Callen bugs you too much, you just call me and then you camp out over at my place," Kensi smiles broadly.

_"Hey!"_ Callen exclaims again._ Really, Kensi_?

"If he finds his way through your junk," Sam snorts.

"Oh, we can watch lots of TV. I got the best movies," Kensi smiles.

"You only watch Titanic, though. And I still fail to figure why you watch that movie again and again... I mean, you _know_ it sinks!" Sam shakes his head.

"You can play it backwards and then it rises up again," Marty shrugs, simply enjoying this... normalcy, is it?

"Hear that?" Kensi grins victoriously. Even if she never had _that_ idea.

"You dig chick movies?" Sam cocks an eyebrow at him.

"Dunno. Didn't watch much, you know. But I know the Titanic sank," Marty manages to smirk.

"Well, with that movie you didn't miss anything," Sam snorts.

"Watch it, big guy!" Kensi threatens, but before she can snarl something at him in turn, Hetty comes in, along with Nell and Eric.

"Did you get one of CPS?" Callen asks nervously.

"I talked to a Miss Finley, one little bugger," she chuckles.

"Yeah, know her," Callen sighs.

"Well, she connected me to the case supervisor Mr. Cole... he was not all too pleased about the latest developments," Hetty exhales.

"Yeah, no nice fella," Callen mutters.

"Oh, he purred like a little kitten by the end of the conversation," Hetty snickers.

"Did you threaten to kill him with a paper knife again?" Callen asks.

"A spoon," Hetty corrects him.

"I should've done that also, maybe," Callen shrugs.

"Well, he was not very delighted to hear about the new information, but Mr. Beale sent him the test results and an emergency appeal for you to take him in," Hetty informs him.

"Such a thing exist?" Kensi frowns.

"The appeal, Ms. Blye, consists of a very low voice and a _"Do not mess with me – and get this straight or you will lose your job_" - easy as that," Hetty shrugs.

"Wow," Sam grimaces. That is exactly why no one messes with Ms. Hetty Lange.

"Well, there's more steps that will be required to be taken, but for now... CPS is no longer the biggest of our problems. There will be more discussions later the week, but Mr. Cole agreed that it'd be for the best if Mr. Deeks got the time to recollect and heal up before we get the paper forms etc. done. Health comes first, after all," Hetty shrugs.

"Thanks," Callen smiles at her.

"Well, that being said... I think it's time for a little toast," Hetty smiles. Nell and Eric hand out glasses with juice.

"No champagne, Hetty?" Sam chuckles.

"We will have that once the papers are done, Mr. Hanna. And you are still to work, so no alcohol for you," Hetty returns.

"Good point," Sam nods.

"Well, then... Mr. Deeks, I hereby welcome you to our small makeshift family," Hetty says. Marty smiles at her shyly.

"Let's raise our glasses to family and friends," Kensi toasts.

"To good fortune and happiness," Nell adds.

"To surprises and coincidences," Eric joins.

"To friendship and brotherhood," Sam provides.

"To Mr. Callen and Mr. Deeks," Hetty smirks.

"To the lost and the found," Callen smiles, to which all say: "Cheers."

All take a drink of the juice – and all of them feeling a warmth that didn't use to be there. They settle in a bit of chat and laughter, and Marty allows himself to go with it.

He dares to hope.


	9. New Normal In The Making

Author's Note: You guys, you and your wonderful reviews make me wanna cry in joy. Thank you soooo much.  
Okay, so here is the next chapter, I hope you'll like it, even if it might be a bit of a gap-filler once again. I hope you understand that I have to post that at some point to push the story forward - and to develop the relationship between especially Callen and Marty. They have to interact a bit to get to know each other after all.  
So, read, review, do what you like ;)

* * *

Later the day, Hetty lets all of them go early, after all this was a "troublesome day". Callen takes Marty... _home._ It still feels odd to think that, say that, but it feels damn good, the older man has to admit to himself, surprisingly right.

"Okay, we'll have to buy some supplies before we head home," Callen declares as they walk to the car.

"I don't need anything," Marty frowns at him sheepishly.

_"Yes,_ you do. And, above all, we need some cereal. I won't make a cooking breakfast disaster again. I think I might burn down the building," Callen grimaces.

"That might actually be a point," Marty admits with a smirk. The two get into the car and drive to the next-best supermarket. They get a cart and walk inside. Callen looks around a bit confused, actually, he normally lives from takeaway food and barely goes to supermarkets... at all.

"Well, I think we should head this way," Callen makes up his mind. They start to walk down the aisles. Callen packs in some sweets, cereals and jello, since Marty ate that in hospital, figuring that he may take that stuff. Marty trots after him a little uncertainly, always keeping close, but always a well-measured space of personal distance.

"You gotta tell me if there's something you'd like," Callen encourages him. Well, it figures that Marty is new to this also. Marty says nothing, but keeps on following him.

"Okay, let's go through this... we have... food that is ready to eat, namely candy, cookies and cereal, the three C's... we got some vegetables and fruit for alibi. Then we have... something to drink. Bread and stuff to put on it. I think we're good for food, aren't we?" Callen asks.

"... I guess," the teenager bites his lower lip. Callen smirks, since he is finally talking to him again, "So now we need the stuff for the house."

Marty looks at him rather confused. Callen smirks at him and explains, "Toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, a comb or so, you know, the usual things."

"Oh... okay," Marty nods uncertainly.

"Now we just gotta find that stuff... this building is _huge!"_ Callen mutters. He thought that a big supermarket would be good to get everything at once, but now... this seems more like a labyrinth.

"Down this way," Marty nods ahead.

"You've been here before?" Callen frowns.

"No?" Marty blinks.

"How you know?" Callen asks suspiciously.

"There was a plan at the entrance," Marty shrugs. Well, yeah, figures... _normally,_ Callen pays attention to such things, but now... his mind is not working properly.

"Ah... you are fast," G smirks. Marty, for the first time, walks ahead and leads Callen to the right racks.

"Let's see... you want one with fairies on it?" Callen grins.

"Of course," Marty nods sarcastically, "I love fairies."

"Hm, we also got pirates?" Callen suggests.

"Grr?" Marty shrugs, imitating a pirate.

"And... is that robots, I don't know what they call it. Those look like robots a Manga artist threw up," Callen frowns at the Anime-themed ones.

"... you want me to stick something in my mouth a Manga artist threw up?" Marty cocks an eyebrow at him.

"Good point, we'll go with classic... blue? That okay?" Callen smirks.

"I bear blue no grudge," Marty shrugs.

"Good. Then we got a toothbrush... toothpaste... and we got shower gel and shampoo. Last would be... clothes. Yeah, you definitely need clothes," Callen grimaces.

"But...," Marty means to argue, but Callen is faster, "You really wanna wear just one pair of boxers for the rest of your life?"

Marty suddenly starts to tremble. Callen blinks at him, now what the hell is wrong? A second ago he was fine!

"Hey, what's wrong? I was just joking, okay?" Callen asks hastily.

"But... you buy all those things and... and I can't...," Marty babbles helplessly. Really, that is too much. He's never had it that people actually wanted to give more to him than a coffee for free or some clothes they didn't need anymore anyways. And now? Now they _go shopping_, what the bloody hell?

"I'm your older brother and I buy you some stuff. If it makes you feel better, let's say those are late Christmas and birthday presents for the past years I missed out on, huh?" Callen offers, now getting what Marty tries to get across here.

"But I can't... you know," Marty grimaces. He can't pay him back. Can't give it back. He can't buy G fancy clothes as late presents either. And that _sucks!_

"Marty, I wanna do it, okay?" Callen insists. He would buy the damn store.

"... okay," Marty sighs after a few moments of contemplation. Even if he doesn't feel comfortable with it, he knows that G will get his will either way.

"Good, then would you show me to the clothes?" Callen winks.

"Over there," Marty points to the right. Callen pushes the cart ahead and Marty follows. G ventures through the racks, now with a bit more confidence. He does go shopping for clothes once in a while, even if he didn't do it for a teenager yet, but... clothes are clothes, right?

"Okay, I'd we go with medium size... so whatcha like to wear?" Callen asks, fishing through the racks.

"Clothes?" Marty knits his eyebrows at him.

"Yeah, no, good joke. No, I mean, like... you'd like to have tees or sweaters or a dress shirts...," Callen goes on, but Marty only shakes his head, "Dunno. Never gave much on it."

"Then what do you feel comfortable in?" Callen asks instead.

"I don't know," Marty says, with a bit of exasperation in his voice. How would he know? In the streets there are just two kinds of clothes: summer and winter, and summer is already a term for too-shitty-to-keep-you-warm-at-night.

"Okay, so now you wear... tee with hoodie, jeans, and boots. How about we take that for starters? Here, that doesn't look too bad?" Callen keeps going, trying to keep up a positive attitude.

"Okay," Marty nods. Well, G should know, right?

"Good, so we got this hoodie... another one?" Callen asks, trying to get Marty into choosing something by himself, and in fact Marty points at a black one, "That one?"

"Metallica?" Callen grins.

"They're cool," Marty shrugs.

"Tell Eric about it and he'll be all over you. Okay, so Metallica hoodie it is. That makes two. Now we need a couple of tees... I think seven should be good, then we got it for one week. We'll buy some more once you know bit more about your own style," Callen goes on mindfully.

"I don't have a style," Marty shakes his head.

"You'll get one. Okay, those alright to you?" Callen holds out a few more to him. Marty nods.

"Then we take those. Then jeans... you okay with simple blue jeans?" Callen offers. Marty nods again. Callen glances at him, guessing the size, "You wanna try them here?"

Marty stares at him with huge eyes. Callen bites his lip. That might be not so much of a good idea. The kid escaped a place where he had to undress for other people, to do it here must be just like revisiting it. _Damn._ Stupid idea.

"Sorry, uhm, no, we'll just take these. If they don't fit, we'll get you new ones morrow. Okay? No need to be upset. For that they have the bills!" Callen smiles, though tensed. He just wants to relieve the tension somehow. Marty looks at him uncertainly for a couple of moments, before he eases also. Callen sighs with relief. That was close.

"Okay, now we got that... ah, you should have at least two dress shirts, too. For when we need to meet up with CPS. We should give them the best of impressions. They dig dress shirts for sure," Callen says, halfway talking to himself. G pulls out a checkered, lightly red one and a dark blue plain one. He holds them in front of Marty to see if the size is okay, "Those should fit. We'll get you real ones some time the week, at a real store. I just wantcha to have something to change into."

"Those are fine," Marty grimaces. Really, aren't his clothes real clothes also? Clothes are clothes. They don't have to look fancy, they just have to hold. Or, well... that's what Marty thought. Seemingly that's different in "real life".

"Yeah, no, but we'll get you real clothes also. I think we'll buy the jacket at the store, you have a good one here, so... you want some shoes also?" Callen asks.

"I like my boots," Marty replies, now a bit offended.

"Yeah, they are _makeshift_, after all. I get it that you don't wanna take those off. Kensi _totally_ envies you for them," Callen winks at him.

"They mean safety," Marty shrugs.

"You are safe with me also," Callen says silently. Marty nods, "... I know."

"Good, okay. So we got that. Anything else we need? Ah, yeah, of course!" he holds out a pack of boxers and socks to him, "Can't forget that."

"Yeah...," Marty grimaces. He's never seen a guy who's been so... excited about underwear and socks, but it's nice for a change, because he understands that Callen does that to cheer him up.

"What else... what else... wait... Oh, no! How could I forget that?!" Callen exclaims.

"What?" Marty grimaces.

"You gotta have a phone... but I'll ask Eric. He knows where to get the best with tracking and all," Callen bites his lower lip, making a mental note to tell the analyst about that.

"You mean that?" Marty gapes.

"Those are safety also, believe me. Saved my life couple of times already," Callen smirks.

"I get a … cell phone," Marty brings out. He never had one, for what reason, really? To call some other homeless boy, "_Hey, did you find something in that trashcan_?" Yeah, no, not really.

"Yeah, wanna make sure that you can call either one of us if there's trouble. But since I'll be around you for the rest of the day, I think we'll be fine getting one for you tomorrow. That okay?" Callen asks. Marty nods his head frantically, "What? Yes, of course! Thanks! Thank you!"

"No big deal. I don't have to pay for the phone, that's pretty sweet. Okay, let's just pay and head home, shall we?" Callen smiles. There, he said it again: home. And it starts to feel right-_er_ with every second passing.

"Alright," Marty agrees. They make their way to the register, where there is a long line.

"That's when you go at rush hour. People are just crazy that they might run outta toilet paper," Callen grunts. Marty snickers softly. G can't help but think about how much of a beautiful smile the kid has, if he shows it. Two women are whispering behind them. Marty turns his head slightly, pricking his ears at something. Callen grimaces, spotting the two women also as they banter, "... and his clothes. Looks like he just came out of a dumpster."

"That the father lets him walk around in that," the other woman sighs dramatically.

"I bet he reeks also," the first one makes a face.

"Maybe he's got ticks?" the other suggests.

"Then we should keep a safe distance," the first woman suggests, to which the second agrees, "Definitely."

"They ought to be ashamed of themselves," the first woman grimaces.

"Well, the father for the most part. He lets his son walk around like a hobo," she shakes her head.

"Maybe he isn't even his father? You know, I heard about...," the first one suggests.

"Maybe we should call police?" the other one asks tentatively.

"Don't be ridiculous," the first one snorts. Marty bites his lip, turning away from the sound. It's nothing new, really, that is the usual reaction he gets from people. And normally, it doesn't burden him much, but it was such an... amazing... day, so much has happened, and now he just feels reminded of what he is in the eyes of all those other people, a streetkid, a hobo. Callen can see the hurt in the teenager's features, and it makes him boil, deep, deep in his gut. He turns around, one hand on the cart, "Excuse me!"

All in the line stare at him. Marty's eyes couldn't be any wider.

"Yeah, I mean you two over there, the Lady in the too tight top and too high heels for her little tipple toe feet and the Lady with the awful hairdo and the guy chin right next to her!" he yells. The two women instantly blush, but quickly regain their composure, "What did you just say?"

"How dare you?" the second woman curses, feeling offended.

"How dare you talk 'bout us? You remind me?" Callen retorts. Really, they picked the wrong people and the wrong time to mess with him.

"We didn't...," she begins, but Callen is having none of it, "Do you really want me to quote you in front of those people?"

Marty suddenly pulls at the hem of his shirt, "Let it be."

"I got this. So again, you get upset when someone brags about your looks, but you dare to talk about him and me that way and think you get away with it?" Callen turns back to the two women.

"That was a private conversation!" the second one exclaims.

"Yeah, then maybe you shouldn't raise your squealy voices so all of us are bound to listen to your crap – and as to personal: the content was personal to us. My brother's had a rough day – and you just made it even worse for him, thank you for that. So, if you really wanna be a good example, since I bet you help out at church to relieve your conscience, then maybe you should stop talking behind people's backs so loud that anyone can hear you! I'm federal agent, I can arrest you for stuff you're not even aware of, we get each other?" he threatens.

"We...," the first one wants to retort something, but the second woman intervenes, "We're sorry."

"And I don't give a fuck. You just go back to your greasy burgers and you... get laid again, then maybe you regain some of your... politeness. C'mon, kiddo," Callen puts the stuff on the register and quickly pays before stomping off, dragging Marty with him.

"You didn't have to do this, you know," Marty asks in a calm voice.

"They don't get to talk about you or us that way," Callen grits his teeth. He would just love to go back in there and curse at them some more.

"I don't care for what people think of me and my looks," Marty shrugs. He really doesn't, it's just that he doesn't like it. For the longest of times he believed that looking like shit was a benefit, to drive the customers from the ring away. Only the pretty boys sale, after all. And couple of times Marty felt more than tempted to just take a knife and cut his face just so that they would keep their dirty hands off of him. Not that he would ever say that out loud...

"It's not about the looks. It's how they treated you. You are a kid, you don't brag about a kid, period. That's not nice – and that's why they had it coming," Callen grumbles.

"... was funny, though," Marty smirks as they load in the last things. Focus on the good, focus on that, he reminds himself. Darkness only gets to you once you let it close. You can smile it away.

"That was the purpose," Callen can't help but smirk also as he shuts the trunk.

"Thanks," Marty says once they settle inside and close the doors.

"Not for that. We are a family. And that's what family does... I guess. I mean, you know, there's not too much family experience on my side, but that's what I do if one of the team gets it also, so... yeah," Callen grimaces. He actually wanted to make this a great speech, but it always comes out weird once the words travel past his lips.

"Thanks," Marty beams at him. They drive home and unpack the things they just bought. Callen notices that this is perhaps the first time his racks and cupboards are filled, as in _full_. Generally... this apartment seems suddenly full. And damn, it's nice.

"Hm, so... what you want for dinner? I could try to warm up... whatever _that_ is. I can't even remember that we bought it... I have to start to pay more attention to this kinda stuff," Callen scratches the side of his head.

"I'm not too sure about you and that oven," Marty shakes his head, the smell of "breakfast" still fresh in his mind. Callen chuckles at that, "Cereal for dinner?"

"I don't mind," Marty shrugs.

"I really have to learn how to cook. I don't know if cereal for dinner is right," Callen shakes his head.

"Burned things aren't either," Marty shrugs. _True_.

"Good point. The former, if at all, makes you put on weight, the latter... gets you cancer, possibly... yeah, then I guess the first one is better. That means we're good with cereal... Okay, so you bring your clothes and everything to the room, maybe try something on if you like," Callen smirks.

"Oh, okay," the teenager nods before he trots off with his shopping bag to the room. Callen takes out two bowls and spoons. Marty comes back, changed in new tee and hoodie.

"Looking good," Callen winks at him.

"Thanks... oh, uhm, lemme," Marty says quickly and straightly walks up to Callen, who is having the container of milk in hand. Marty quickly grabs and opens it.

"I could've done that also," Callen knits his eyebrows.

"Uh-huh," Marty replies, not looking at him. Callen grimaces, but figures that this is Marty's subtle way to tell him that he doesn't want to talk about it. Callen fills the bowls with cereal, "What? I can't burn milk without an oven."

"No, it's uhm... I don't... I can't... I don't drink stuff I didn't pour myself," Marty admits.

"Why's that?" Callen pokes. Maybe he'll tell him after all?

"I just don't. I don't like that," Marty replies defensively.

"Oh, alright. Well, good thing we bought small bottles and stuff, then you can take those, right?" Callen offers. If he doesn't want to talk, then he doesn't. Marty nods.

"Alright, kiddo, whatever you like best," Callen smirks. Marty caps the milk before putting it back in the fridge.

"Okay, wanna watch some TV?" the older man asks. Marty nods, "Sure."

The two walk with their bowls into the living room, flop down on the couch, and Callen switches on TV. Both munch their cereal simultaneously, glancing at the screen.

* * *

The next day, Callen wakes up on the couch, finding himself draped in one of the blanket. Marty must have done that before he went to bed. That kid is really something. The agent scratches over his head as he sits up. His muscles still ache from all the tension that was in his body yesterday. G gets up and stretches, popping some of his joints. He glances around as he walks into the kitchen to grab some juice from the fridge.

"Morning," a voice rings beside him. G almost jumps as he closes the fridge. He didn't even see Marty at the table, munching his cereal silently.

"M, morning," he stammers. Callen walks over to the table to note that Marty actually put down a set for him also. G settles down opposite him, "Thanks for prepping up the breakfast."

"Huh? Oh, I just... I didn't know," Marty shrugs.

"Is nice for a change," Callen smiles.

"You normally don't eat at the table, huh?" Marty guesses.

"That... and to have someone here in the morning. Real nice for a change," Callen grins. Marty smirks at him. They continue in all silence. Once they finished breakfast, Marty quickly gathers the things and starts to clean. Callen helps dry everything and puts it into the right spots, smirking at the new routine, a routine he really starts to like, a lot.

"Alright, I'll grab a shower now. Then it's time we head out," Callen declares.

"We?" Marty frowns.

"You don't wanna come with?" Callen grimaces back.

"I thought I'm not supposed to. Federal building and all," Marty shrugs. He thought that he'd have to stay here all day till G would come back. Callen chuckles, "That won't be an issue, at all. And I rather know where you are."

"I won't break anything," Marty assures quickly. Maybe G just won't trust him to stay alone at his apartment?

"I know that. And if you did, wouldn't bother me. Is just... I got a brother in a day now, so I'd rather spend some time with him," Callen explains. Marty gapes at him, "Oh..."

"So, you wanna come with?" Callen asks. Marty nods frantically, "Yeah, yeah."

"Good, I'll be ready in ten minutes. You can watch some TV or so, whatever you like best," G winks. With that the older brother heads for the bathroom, biting his lower lip. There it was again, this other side of Marty, the insecure part that things he is not worth putting up with. It makes Callen furious that Marty thinks that way – not that he blames him, but the people who made him believe that this is the right way to think about himself, as a liability, as someone no one trusts and wants around. Callen grabs a quick shower to wash off the awful feelings before he gets changed and walks into the living room to find Marty watching a cartoon. He wants to squeeze the teenager's shoulder, but as he makes physical contact with Marty, the kid jumps off the couch instantly, as in literally: He jumps.

"Whoa, is just me," Callen holds up his hands in surrender. Marty glances at him with wide eyes for the longest of seconds before he slowly goes back to standing, his features ever so tense.

"Sorry," the boy brings out.

"No, uhm, I'm sorry. I...," Callen blinks at him.

"I'm just a bit... jumpy, still," Marty admits. Yeah, great impression he gives right there. That is his brother and he jumps like a scared deer. Just why can't he be normal about these things? It's all good now, isn't it?

"Okay, no, that's no problem. This was an accident, it won't happen again," Callen assures.

"Okay," Marty whispers. The silence is absolute once again.

"... ready to go?" Callen brings out.

"Okay," Marty nods. Out is good. Out means out of this situation, right? Callen takes his bag and walks out the door, Marty short up behind him. They get to work in all silence.

"Morning, guys," Callen greets his team members. Sam and Kensi wave at them, "Morning."

Callen walks up to his table with a grimace. He turns to the teenager short up behind him.

"Marty? You wanna, uhm, go to the couch over there, I'll be there in a moment, alright?" Callen offers. Marty nods before heading off.

"Everything okay?" Sam frowns.

"Yeah, yeah," Callen sighs. He walks a little closer, purposely turning his back to where Marty is so that the bugger can't try to read his lips, "This morning, I got back after getting ready for work and I touched him by the shoulder – he jumped three feet off the couch and cowered on the ground for at least half a minute. I don't know what to make of it. He said he's jumpy... and he was totally apologetic... but... I don't know."

"Well, he's still new to all this," Kensi grimaces.

"And being grabbed from behind... you know...," Sam wiggles an eyebrow at his partner. Callen slaps his forehead – why didn't it dawn on him any sooner?! Isn't that damn obvious?!

"Darn!" he exclaims.

"Hey, you couldn't know," Sam assures.

"No, but why didn't I figure? I'm an agent," Callen grumbles.

"Well, this is taking an emotional toll on you, too, G. You gotta find a way to deal with each other. That takes time, I guess," Sam shrugs.

"Yeah, might be, I don't know," Callen sighs.

"So whatcha wanna do with him today?" Kensi asks, glancing in Marty's direction.

"Huh?" Callen frowns at her.

"You really just wanna park him there to stare into nothing for the day?" Kensi knits her eyebrows. Really, G Callen is normally a badass agent, but now it's a miracle this man manages to tie his shoes, as it seems.

"He said he wanted to come with," Callen grimaces. Kensi has to fight every urge not to roll her eyes, "Yeah, no, I'm just asking whatcha wanna keep him occupied with today?"

"I'm supposed to keep him occupied?" Callen gapes. The others can't hide a smile. They have never seen G Callen worked up about something like this ever before. It's definitely a new side of his, and even though that side is a bit jazzed, both start to like that side a lot.

"Now don't sweat it, Marty is no little child anymore. We can surely find him something to do for a day," Kensi winks, offering a bit of reassurance.

"I'll definitely get him some games or whatever by the end of the day," Callen mutters. There are just so many things he has to do.

"Oh my, are you just gonna bribe him with presents?" Sam sighs.

"What?" Callen turns to him, instantly back to exasperation. Sam holds up his hands in surrender, "Nevermind."

"I feel really stupid all of a sudden," Callen exhales.

"Yeah, know that feeling, is called parent-stupidity. That passes in due time," Sam assures.

"Or maybe it doesn't," Kensi smirks, wiggling her eyebrows at Sam, who just grunts dismissively.

"Okay, uhm, I think I should talk to him... but what do I keep him occupied with?!" Callen asks with a grimace.

"Gimme a sec," Kensi holds up her hand before she walks up to her desk and rummages through her piles until she digs up some magazines. She holds out to the Senior Agent, who just frowns "Huh?"

"Marty's smart, maybe he'd like to do some riddle-stuff?" Kensi suggests.

"Ah, perfect! Thanks!" Callen exclaims happily.

"No prob. I never do them anyways. I just buy them for alibi," she admits.

"Really, thanks," Callen smiles gratefully.

"Okay, uhm, once you're acquainted, come upstairs, I think we have a case," Sam smirks, getting up. Callen nods, "Alright."

He walks off to where Marty is. Sam shakes his head with a smile.

"Callen surely has a long way ahead of him with this," Kensi grins.

"Sure as hell," Sam agrees.

"Am I then only one looking forward to seeing this?" Kensi smiles.

"You kidding? Those are first row tickets for blackmailing material," Sam snickers. Kensi giggles to herself as they walk up to the OPS. Meanwhile, Callen made his way over to the couch, where Marty is sitting.

"Hey," the older brother greets him.

"Hey," Marty replies softly.

"Okay, so, uhm... I'll have some work to do now, so that means you'll be on your own for a while, I hope you're okay with that?" Callen grimaces.

"Sure, is your job," Marty shrugs. How would he be against it?

"Well, so that you have something to do, Kensi was so nice to give these to me. Maybe you'd like doing some of those?" he holds the magazines out to the teenager, whose eyes are instantly focused on the objects in his hands.

"Is that okay? I mean, we can think of something else, you know? I just thought that maybe you'd like to...," Callen asks, but he can already see Marty beaming at him, "Those are great, thanks... and tell Kensi thanks from me."

"Alright, I sure will. Great. Okay, so here's some pens and pencils... if there's anything you need, you come up to the OPS... or once we're back at the tables, you can come join us, whatever you like. Uhm... drinks are over there, you can take whatever you like. There's also canned stuff. There's also cookies and things, if you get hungry... So... you think you're gonna be fine?" Callen asks.

"Sure, thanks," Marty nods.

"Alright, I'll be back here as soon as I can," Callen winks. Marty's eyes are already fixing on the riddles, so G leaves with a rather good feeling in his stomach. He hops up the stairs to the OPS where the others are already waiting.

"Everything okay with the stuff?" Kensi questions curiously.

"Looked like a bucket full of sunshine when I left. I'm supposed to tell you thanks from him," Callen smiles. Kensi beams over both her ears, "Aw. Aunty Kensi knows best."

Hetty walks in, "Good day, everyone."

"Morning, Hetty," the rest greets her also.

"Mr. Beale, please, brief us," Hetty asks. Eric gets up and lets the information appear on-screen, "Okay, uhm, a dead Navy SEAL was found yesterday near the docks. Andrew Hall. He was shot two times square in the chest. He died from the blood loss – and some time around three in the morning."

"He must've met up with someone there," Sam suggests.

"He was suspected for doing some odd jobs, if you will, but got cleared... maybe he wasn't as clear," Eric informs them.

"All info is on your tablets and phones," Nell adds.

"Okay, Kensi, Sam? You go to the docks and have a look at the scene, I'll make some calls as one of my old aliases to people I know do dirty things at the docks. Maybe I get some information," Callen orders. The other two nod, "Got it."

Kensi and Sam take off. Callen also walks out, but he finds his boss right next to him.

"What can I do for you, Hetty?" G asks casually.

"How is Mr. Deeks?" Hetty asks.

"He's... okay, I guess. I mean... it's... difficult, still," Callen admits.

"No one's said that this would be easy, Mr. Callen," Hetty argues.

"I know," G nods.

"I take it that you brought him along?" Hetty asks.

"Yeah, he's downstairs in the lounge. Is that some kinda problem?" Callen asks. He probably should have asked that before assuring Marty that it'd be fine.

"No," Hetty shakes her head.

"Good. I mean... I just thought it'd be good if he is around people, you know? I still don't know if he's...," Callen grimaces.

"Running off? Having a panic attack? Trying to hurt himself?" Hetty supplies. Callen gapes at her, "That came out more direct than I would've put it."

"Mr. Callen, we should be quite clear about the matter. Mr. Deeks has _more_ than a _troubled_ past to show. We don't know what he did to get over that pain – and we don't know what he might do now, in the confused state he must be in. Even if we don't want to imagine those kinds of scenarios, we have to be aware of their likability at some point."

"Yeah, I know...," G sighs. He would rather forget about all of it, but Marty jumping off the couch only made it palpable once again.

"Well, but maybe that will be resolved in due time, once you two grow closer," Hetty suggests.

"Well, now... we're still getting used to each other, I guess," Callen shrugs.

"And it will take a lot of time to get there, but I think you will, Mr. Callen," Hetty smiles.

"Thanks," Callen smirks.

"... yet, I have to tell you something," Hetty grimaces.

"What?" Callen blinks. Not more bad news, please!

"I made a call, to Mr. Getz," Hetty explains. Callen rolls his head back, "Oh, please!"

"I want him here to help the both of you deal with your new situation – and you won't get to turn me down, so you can forget about this right away, Mr. Callen, that is not going to happen," Hetty declares.

"I don't know if Marty's gonna like that, though," Callen grimaces. No, he's pretty sure Marty will hate it.

"I'm positive that Mr. Deeks will hate this, Mr. Callen, and that he will be very defensive. Yet, it is necessary, for both of you. He is traumatized, we have to see it like this, given the information we have, and we both know it's only a portion of what's really beneath the surface. And with psychological help, we have better chances making this less overwhelming for Mr. Deeks and you, which should be our primary focus. We don't want him to have a breakdown, so we shouldn't even try to get him close to that if we can help it, don't you agree?" Hetty explains.

"I guess," Callen shrugs.

"Good, Mr. Getz is still on his assignment, so he'll only join us in a few days from now," Hetty says. Callen nods, "Okay, might be for the best... that way I can prepare him for this... kinda."

"Most certainly," Hetty agrees.

"I appreciate the support very much, just so that you know," Callen mumbles.

"Mr. Callen, I think I told you that I carry the decision with you, the decision to take him in," Hetty assures.

"Yeah," Callen smiles softly.

"So I'm also taking responsibility," Hetty shrugs.

"Thank you," Callen smirks. It's good to know to have support, even from your boss.

"Good, then you shall do your work. I'll have an eye on Mr. Deeks for you," Hetty offers. G beams at her, "Thanks."

Callen grabs his phone and goes for a private room to make his calls while Hetty joins Marty.

Their new kind of normalcy?


	10. A Spyder & A Movie Night

Author's Note: You guys blow my mind with your awesome-y nice reviews. I never thought that you folks would like it that much, so really THANK YOU.  
Okay, so here, as requested, the next chapter. I hope you'll like it. I know it's a bit long, but I didn't want to put that into two chapters, so I hope the content will make up for greater length ;)  
Uhm, there is a Hawaiian word in here, I just looked it up on the internet, if it's wrong... I hope Hawaii will forgive me that. I blame it on the internet. I don't own any characters or trademarks mentioned... if I did, I would live in a castle ;)  
Read and review, that makes me so happy ;)  
Enjoy!

* * *

As Hetty comes to the lounge area, Marty is eagerly filling out the riddles. Once he hears her footsteps, his eyes are instantly on her, "Good morning."

"Good morning to you, too, Mr. Deeks. How are you?" Hetty smiles broadly at him.

"Good. And you?" Marty asks politely.

"Oh, I'm _tremendous_, thank you," Hetty winks.

"Cool," Marty nods, grimacing at his own choice of words. _Cool_, seriously?

"I see you have something to occupy yourself with?" she nods at the magazines sprawled on the table. Marty beams at her, "Kensi's given them to me. Those are really cool."

"I find them a good distraction also," Hetty nods. She sits down next to him, "So, how do you like it so far?"

"This building?" Marty blinks at her.

"Yes, why not?" Hetty shrugs. It was not exactly what she wanted to ask, but... Hetty long since understood that you have to use subtle ways to come to your goal. Patience is one of the main virtues an agent has to learn.

"Is really stylish, I guess. Have never seen something like this before. I mean, doesn't even look like an office, safe for the desks and papers," Marty smiles, "and the people here are also nice, very nice."

She smiles at him, "And how is it with Mr. Callen?"

"Is great. I mean... he... he even bought me new clothes and everything," Marty grins.

"I can see that. And by the way, I think they are fitting you really well," she winks at the young man.

"Thanks... well, as for G... He's really cool," Marty says sheepishly. Cool, cool, cool... isn't there some other word to describe it, well, more accurately?

"That is good, Mr. Deeks," Hetty nods.

"Yeah," Marty replies silently. His eyes drift off a bit, but Hetty brings him back instantly, "How is the side?"

"What about it?" Marty grimaces.

"Well, as you might recall, only two days back you were in hospital with a wound to the side that got infected?" Hetty says in a calm voice. Marty bites his lower lip. _Crap._

"Oh, that. Uhm, totally forgot about it... but I feel fine," Marty assures quickly.

"Yet, the bandages should be changed so that you don't run another infection," Hetty argues.

"Oh, uhm...," Marty frowns. Crap, crap, crap, he won't get out of this one.

"If you want me to, I can check it over at the infirmary, if you don't want Mr. Callen in on that," Hetty offers in a soft voice. Marty grimaces, biting his lower lip. That Lady really knows what he is thinking.

"Whatever I see, I will keep to myself," she adds in a whisper. Marty studies her face, tilting his head to the side, "... okay."

"Good, then we shall go to the infirmary. Follow me," she says, getting up. The two make their way to the infirmary.

"Have a seat," the petite woman motions at the stretcher. Marty hops on.

"If you'd pull up the shirt enough so that I can have a look at the wound?" Hetty asks, keeping up a casual tone. Marty bites his lips, lets out a shaky breath, but eventually pulls it up. Hetty keeps her face straight not to upset the teenager, but the sight is just as bad as one can picture it. Some of the bruises are fading, but there is old cuts and lumps from constant beat-up. She fixes the gloves around her hands another time, pulling a bit tighter to release some of the anger boiling up inside her throat. A boy – and already the body of an agent who's been undercover for fifteen years.

"Okay, I'm going to remove the bandage now," Hetty explains. She figures it might be best to tell him everything ahead so that Marty can mentally prepare for it. She slowly approaches. Once her fingers come in contact with his skin, he flinches back, not in pain, but just out of fright. She doesn't move, quite simply, and leaves her hand on his midsection until he finds his muscles easing.

"Sorry, is just...," Marty grimaces, but Hetty intervenes, "Cold hands, I know."

Marty smiles at her gratefully that he doesn't have to explain to her. It feels damn good not to be forced to, the right to remain silent.

"Now I'll take off the gauze. That might pull a bit. If it gets too bad, you just tell me, Mr. Deeks," Hetty says. Marty nods. Hetty waits another second for him to take a deep breath. She pulls the gauze off slowly to bypass further damage to the still tender skin, but much to her surprise, and much to her shock, the teenager straightly looks ahead, not even bothering about that, as it seems.

"Alright, the stitches look fine. Did you have any pain?" Hetty asks after a quick check-up.

"No, not at all. The doctor has given me some pills. And I took them as prescribed," Marty says truthfully. Hetty nods, "Very well... Alright, I will put some disinfectant on the wound, and some iodine. Then we'll just wrap it back up and you should be good to go."

"Cool," Marty nods. He has to stop saying _cool,_ really. Hetty takes a swab she plunges into the disinfectant, keeping the conversation alive, "That is the disinfectant – and that will sting a lot."

She brings it down on the wound, but again, Marty won't even stir. High pain tolerance, that is.

"Here comes the iodine," Hetty says. She swabs his wound another time before she puts the gauze back on, "I think we are fine just putting on some thick gauze and then tape it."

"Awesome. That stuff is itchy when you always have it rubbing against the skin," he manages to smirk. Hetty nods with a wink, "I know, awful, isn't it?"

She tapes the wound, "Good, that should hold for a day. But you have to keep in mind that the dressing should be changed regularly," Hetty lectures in a gentle voice.

"Yeah," Marty nods.

"Good, you can roll down your shirt," Hetty says as she puts the stuff away.

"Thanks," Marty smiles softly.

"Not for that," Hetty winks at him.

"No, I mean... _thanks_," Marty repeats to make himself clear. This means something to him, it really does. That someone comes up to him to ask him how his side is, that someone simply cares about that... it's nice and great and so many other things.

"You are welcome," Hetty smirks and tosses the gloves into the trashcan.

"Good aim," Marty snickers.

"All about the technique. So either way. Mr. Callen, Ms. Blye and Mr. Hanna will be busy for some time. Why don't we do something as a distraction while they play their game?" she grins.

"What?" Marty frowns at her.

Hetty: "Oh, let's just say that I will give you the exclusive right to see my haven," Hetty declares.

"... okay?" Marty frowns, still not getting anything. Yet, he knows better than to argue with this Lady. Hetty smirks, "Good, I'll let Mr. Callen know, so that he isn't worried, and then we head out."

"Cool," Marty nods. Okay, let's give it up, cool is the word.

* * *

Later the day, Kensi and Sam come back from the docks, gathering in the bullpen to discuss the next steps with Callen, who spent his day calling old contacts.

"So, any luck with your contacts?" Sam asks curiously.

"Only if a man by name Giovanni Ramirez was involved into this," Callen shrugs.

" Huh?" Kensi frowns.

"Ramirez is known for this kinda maneuver," Callen explains.

"Well, no one's mentioned that name," Kensi shrugs.

"But someone who's had lots of experience," Sam adds.

"Not necessarily," Callen argues, "I've gone over the reports another time. Eric's already mentioned that he died of blood loss, not of the wounds directly. If it had been a total pro, it would've been one bullet right to the heart to end it."

"True again...," Kensi exhales. Sam checks his phone, "Ah, interesting. Eric just sent us the results of the substance we found at the scene."

"What substance?" Callen frowns.

"We found a powder at the scene. We suspected drugs, but couldn't tell for sure," Kensi provides with a shrug. Sam nods, " And Eric just confirmed. It's a new kind of lifestyle drug from Hawaii, kids call it _lele_, I think it means 'to fly'."

"So maybe our dead SEAL helped in the shipments after all," Callen grimaces.

"Highly possible. Problem is that we found no drug bags whatsoever, safe for the bit we found on the ground," Kensi argues.

"Well, that only enforces our idea. Our SEAL could easily do the shipments from Hawaii, so that fits. He could just bring it with the ship. And during the exchange something went wrong and he was shot," Callen concludes.

"Nell is already calling up LAPD to see if they have someone undercover for the _lele_ drug ring," Sam nods.

"Good, well, if we don't find anything, Kensi will just act as a buyer. If this drug's still new, we have good chances that there is only a few if not only one group dealing," Callen suggests.

"Why do I have to buy the drugs again? I don't do drugs," Kensi retorts.

"We can pass you as a teenager slash young woman who's looking for some fun better than us two," Sam explains.

"Ah, yeah, now I remember, you are just too old, you gramps," Kensi snorts.

"Aw, is our little chap getting ahead of herself again?" Sam returns.

"You know that you're getting rheumatic covers for Christmas this year?" Kensi shoots back.

"Oh, I'd _love_ that. I'm sure you'll enjoy your bib with elephants and balloons on it," Sam returns.

"Yeah, since I'm getting you a huge one reading 'Old Man Eating', gramps," Kensi snickers.

"Okay, now that we settled that... plan's set, I suppose. We just have to wait for Nell and Eric to give us the specifics, then we can move out," Callen brings back the focus, trying to wrap things up. He fumbles for some papers on the table to put them away.

"Good," Kensi salutes in a mocking way. Sam glances around, "Where's the kid, by the way?"

"Dunno, Hetty's taken him somewhere, but she didn't say anything specific in the text she's sent me," Callen shrugs.

"Is that why you're so antsy?" Kensi snickers.

"What? I'm not," Callen shakes his head vehemently.

"You never fumble for material on the table," Kensi says.

"She's got a point," Sam shrugs. Really, those two are constantly plotting against him.

"I know he's safe with Hetty," Callen sighs.

"Uh-huh," Sam sighs, not buying it. Callen rolls his eyes, "Whatever."

* * *

Meanwhile, Hetty brought Marty to a warehouse. She opens the security lock and welcomes the teenager inside.

"Is this what I think it is?" Marty gapes.

"My personal collection, quite right," Hetty nods proudly.

"Fifteen here... how many is it altogether?" Marty questions, his eyes beaming.

"Twenty-seven," Hetty grins.

"Wow," Marty whistles, still taking the view in.

"But... now I will show you my most loved possession," Hetty announces. She heads over to one of the cars with a tarp on top. She takes the ends in both hands and then yanks the tarp off dramatically, "Tada!"

"No way! A Spyder!? Oh my friggin' goodness!" Marty can't help but gasp. He's only seen that once on the cover of a Motor Magazine and immediately fell in love with the car. He carefully walks up to the car, his eyes glistering. His fingers ghost over the vehicle, "It's so perfect!"

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Hetty smiles.

"Just like the ocean," Marty mumbles to himself.

"You are the first one to see this, apparently, well, at least in person," Hetty snickers.

"Seriously?" Marty glances at her.

"I don't want just anyone touching my stuff. I'm quite possessive," Hetty shrugs.

"And what about the others?" Marty blinks at her.

"Oh, they are just too likely breaking things. They are like a bunch of kids, no... they _are_ a bunch of kids," Hetty grimaces.

"And you trust me?" Marty cocks an eyebrow at her.

"Anyone who doesn't plant his hands on something like this right away makes me confident, Mr. Deeks," Hetty winks.

"I wouldn't ever. That would just destroy the picture," Marty shakes his head.

"Oh, no, you may touch my Spyder. You already passed the test," Hetty smirks.

"You mean that?" Marty asks tentatively.

"Of course," Hetty assures. Marty cautiously brings his hand down on the cold metal.

"Really, beautiful. The guy who's made that thing... genius," Marty smiles broadly.

"I agree with you. Now, I want to hear your opinion," Hetty announces almost dramatically. She gets out the key, gets into the car and starts the engine.

"Wow!" Marty gapes at her. Hetty smirks victoriously as she switches the car off again, "I love the sound."

"Still the original motor, eh?" Marty tilts his head.

"You can tell?" Hetty asks, to which Marty makes a face. Hetty chuckles, "Of course you do."

"But you should have that checked out. I heard an odd ramble when you switched it off," Marty informs her.

"Oh, really?" she blinks at him.

"Well, maybe I'm wrong, but... you know, if I am right, you should have it checked out. Would be a pity if something is broke indeed," Marty shrugs.

"I thank you for that advice," Hetty winks at him, but Marty waves his hands at her, "No, I thank you. This is... _wow._"

"Hm, then how about we take another venture around?" Hetty offers.

"I'd love to," Marty smiles.

"Very well, then follow me, Mr. Deeks, and please remember...," Hetty begins, Marty completes, "No touching without explicit permit."

"That is what I wanted to hear," Hetty snickers. They walk further around, Marty visibly lightening up.

* * *

Later the day, the trio returns from the case. Kensi had to pose as a buyer indeed – and they got the bad guy, so it was a smooth case after all, _for once_.

"Well, that was something," Sam exhales.

"What? You didn't have to jump the guy, but me," Kensi mutters.

"You were closer," Sam returns.

"And he was taller," Kensi retorts.

"And since when does that matter, you little ninja assassin?" Sam grins back. She sticks out her tongue, "Boo!"

"Well, at least we got the people turned in, I call that a success," Callen shrugs.

"Right, and_ I_ rocked this, for the record. You can say all you want, Kensi saved the day," Kensi declares, making a victorious pose.

"Whatcha lookin' for there, G?" Sam asks, realizing that G is constantly checking his surroundings.

"I think he's still looking for Marty," Kensi snickers.

"I'm not... really," Callen mutters. Okay, he is, but that doesn't mean he has to admit it, right?

"Aha," Kensi laughs, not buying any of it.

"Well, we were gone for couple of hours. I thought they'd be back by now," Callen admits.

"I think Hetty would've called if something was up," Sam assures him.

"I _know,_ okay? I didn't fry my _entire_ brain since I took the kid in, thank you," Callen grumbles.

"Now c'mon, you know I don't mean it like that," Sam rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, right," G snorts.

"G," Sam sighs.

"Well, since you're all up to giving me advice I don't want... How about this one? What do I keep a teenage boy occupied for a day?" Callen asks.

"I got two girls at home, I don't think they share the same hobbies," Sam shrugs. He doubts that Marty would enjoy Barbies and fairies and glitter to throw through the air.

"Well, he likes riddles, seemingly, so you can keep up with that for sure," Kensi suggests.

"Yeah, but I don't think it'll do him good to do just that for all day long," Callen grimaces. At least he doesn't want that. G already finds it kind of creepy that Marty would probably do that.

"I get your point. Otherwise he'll be too smart for all of us to cope with. Well, what else?" Kensi sighs mindfully, bringing her index finger up to her chin.

"I'm asking you," Callen returns.

"Maybe a _Game Boy_ or something like that?" Sam shrugs.

"Or you just take him to a toy store and tell him to get something he'd like," Kensi suggests. At least that is what she did when she was supposed to get something for her first cousin once removed. She didn't know what to do with that little girl, so she just dragged her to the next best toy store, gave her a fifty dollar bill and told her to spend it all at once if she felt like it. The girl was happy, her cousin not so much, but well... no one could've guessed that the girl would get herself a huge Nemo fish the size of a pony. To the day Kensi can't tell how that thing could actually have cost only fifty bucks. It was _huge_.

"I'd love to do that, but at some point I think he'll be too embarrassed to pick something," Callen admits. Kensi grimaces, "That's of course an issue."

"He was very resistant to accept even the clothing. As much as I'd like to buy him new stuff, I think it'll be bad for him if I just...," Callen fidgets for the right word.

"Overwhelm him with presents," Sam provides. Callen nods, "Yeah. He doesn't get it that I want to give that to him and that I have enough money to afford it."

"Then maybe you'd be off best with one at a time, kinda," Kensi shrugs.

"Thought the same thing," Callen shrugs back.

"Maybe you should ask him about some sport he likes. You know, get a gear or whatever. Sport's easy for starters," Kensi suggests.

"She's right. He seems pretty athletic after all. I mean, he got some fighting skills, he can't be too bad at sports in general, I think," Sam agrees.

"And maybe if it's something you do also, you can do it together? Like... after work?" Kensi adds. Sam joins, "She's right. You should definitely have something you can do together other than... living together and coming to work, and all. It's something you also gotta consider."

"Speaking of sports... the basketball game is still up to date, is it, right? I mean, I know it's fussy, but... I was so looking forward to it!" Kensi blurts out. Sam chuckles at that, "You're itching for a rematch, aren't you?"

"Hell yeah!" Kensi snickers.

"I don't see a problem. I guess it'd be good to continue with the usual routine, you know?" Callen shrugs.

"Might be for the best, so that he doesn't get the feeling that everything's turned upside-down," Sam nods.

"Right. He might feel guilty for that, so...," Callen grimaces, making a mental note that Marty is blaming himself for _way_ too many things.

"I count you in. Awesome," Kensi rubs her hands.

"I'll just ask Marty about it, maybe he joins," Callen shrugs.

"Oh, hell yeah!" Kensi claps her hands together excitedly.

"So whatcha wanna do about, well, what you mentioned this morning?" Sam asks with a grimace. When they are already discussing the next steps in Callen's new parenting schedule, they might also go for the harder topics, right?

"Dunno. I mean... I don't have experience with traumatized teenagers... or teenagers in general... or kids... I mean... Hetty's told me that Nate's gonna come by. So I count on that a bit, you know...," Callen exhales.

"He's the expert," Kensi nods.

"Right. Maybe he tells me what to do in such a situation," Callen shrugs.

"And until then?" Sam questions.

"I hope he doesn't have a breakdown?" Callen knits his eyebrows sheepishly.

"That's... really good future management," Sam snorts sarcastically.

"What am I supposed to say? I don't know what he likes or dislikes or what gives him creeps. I still have to learn about all that," Callen admits.

"No doubt," Sam snorts.

"Well? Any advice on that one, then?" Callen asks.

"Well, you said he didn't handle body contact well, so you should reduce that until you know better how to deal with it," Kensi suggests.

"Figured as much," Callen shrugs. Well, then it comes in handy that he is not the touchy kind of person. He never was the one who always had to hug everything out, so... that should be fine.

"Well, uhm... ask him?" Sam throws in.

"What? Like... _Hey, Marty. Just wanna know what makes you go through the roof. Maybe you write me a list so that I can stick to that – thank you_? Are you serious?" Callen snorts.

"Well, I think is better than falling into hole after hole," Sam returns.

"I _don't_ think that," Callen argues.

"Well, okay, then you don't. Is not like I can force you or whatever," Sam grumbles.

"I know that you're not even trying to force me. I'm thankful for the advice. Is just... I don't know," Callen admits. He would _love_ to know, but in fact... he is _clueless._

"I think you two will figure something out," Kensi winks at him.

"Yeah, dunno," Callen grimaces. He is not too sure about that yet.

"Look, you know each other in... three days now? You still have to get accustomed. Marty the same way you do. You just have to find your way. That takes time and... lots of conversation, easy as that," Kensi shrugs.

"Probably," Callen exhales.

"Hey, how about I come over to yours tonight, for a DVD marathon?" Kensi blurts out after a while. Callen blinks at her, "What?"

"Yeah, coz your DVD's suck and Marty's said that he likes movies," Kensi explains, wiggling her eyebrows at him.

"He did?" Sam blinks at her.

"He knew Titanic," Kensi insists.

"Why are you so eager on this one?"Callen frowns.

"Ugh, you know why. Coz I like watching movies with someone else beside me – and there is no one I wanna watch with now. And Marty might be my DVD buddy," Kensi smiles at him broadly, gesticulating wildly. Sam and Callen know that Kensi can sometimes have this kind of mood when she gets overly excited about her own idea. If this idea revolves around movies in some way... the battle is long since lost. She always gets her will when it comes to movies. Even on the few occasions they watched over at Sam's place, Kensi always picked the movies. The others just gave up arguing.

"_DVD buddy_? I think this is your way of telling me that you intend to spoil the kid," Callen grimaces.

"Boo!" she cries out.

"What? You're _Wikipedia_ already. Now I don't need another one running around who'll pop up with pop culture references all the time," Callen shakes his head. Kensi really does that too often already.

"I don't," Kensi insists.

"You do," both reply in perfect harmony.

"C'mon, Callen, now don't have me beggin' you. I just wanna have a night out," Kensi argues.

"Why don't you have one of your sex friends over? … I still think it sounds weird to say that out loud," Callen grimaces. Kensi refers to them like that... and even if both Sam and Callen try hard not to use it, too... you start after a while.

"Ugh, what else am I supposed to call them?! But that's not the matter. I don't watch movies with those guys. I do that with people I actually wanna... you know... talk to," Kensi argues.

"I'm out of this conversation," Sam sighs, turning in his chair.

"Shut up. C'mon, Callen. I wanna get to know the kid as much as you do, well, okay, not _as_ much, maybe, but I wanna get to know him," Kensi insists, now with a bit more honesty in her voice.

"You want him to be your friend so that he makes you some of those ninja badass shoes, huh?" Sam snickers. Kensi bites the inside of her cheek, "Please?"

"Well, you ask him, and you'll donate either something to eat or to drink," Callen gives in.

"Unless you intend to cook, coz you both suck at that. I think food from either one of you is a threat to humankind," Sam argues.

"I bring pizza," she offers.

"Well, again, you ask him. I don't know how Marty feels about it – and I won't be the one to rush him into it. I had one disaster today, I won't be the one breaking another loose if I can help it. You ask him if it bothers him," Callen insists. Kensi throws her hands in the air exasperated, "_It_? Me – it?"

Sam: "I think he means how he is about visitors or movie nights," Sam translates quickly, seeing the anger rising in the Junior Agent. Callen agrees instantly, "Right."

The anger leaves her again, "Okay, I ask him. And he'll love to have me over coz in contrast to you jerks, he's a nice kid with good manners."

As if on cue, Hetty and Marty come back. "Ah, there you are!" Callen greets them, trying hard to act casual, though he is overly excited to see Marty back. He _was_ worried. Marty and Hetty walk up to them.

"I hope you made some progress on the case, Mr. Callen?" Hetty asks.

"We finished it," Callen nods.

"Yep, all thanks to me," Kensi smirks.

"Very well," Hetty smiles proudly, "I'll be glad to read your reports."

"And what have you been up to?" Callen asks.

"Oh, I needed Mr. Deeks' consultation on a very special collection of mine," Hetty smirks, winking at Marty, who winks back.

"What?" Sam frowns.

"Oh, you didn't, did you?!" Kensi exclaims. All turn to her.

"What now?!" Sam knits his eyebrows. Maybe she had a bit of _lele_ and no one saw it?

"Did you really take him to the warehouse?!" Kensi gapes.

"In fact," Hetty nods.

"What's that about?" Sam asks, not getting a thing.

"I always wanted to go there and you said you wouldn't let anyone only just close!" Kensi whines.

"What is this about, you two... or three?!" Sam shakes his head.

"Aw, man! You know that Hetty has that huge collection of awesome cars and she keeps them in that super secret warehouse and I always wanted to go there coz it's like a friggin' theme park for car cracks like you and me, but she said she wouldn't even let us close!" Kensi says, not taking a breath once.

"I don't let you near it because I know that if I gave you the codes, you'd be sneaking around all the while to have a fancy car to drive for an operation, Ms. Blye," Hetty argues.

"I told you that I wouldn't!" Kensi insists.

"Well, maybe for your next birthday, Ms. Blye," Hetty offers.

"Please!" Kensi begs.

"So... you had fun, kid?" Callen turns to Marty.

"Was beyond amazing," Marty smiles broadly. Callen couldn't be more glad. He actually feared that Marty may feel left out after he had to "park" him in the lounge for the day, but that is seemingly not so.

"Listen to that," Sam snickers.

"Well, since you did a fine job without me, as far as I'm concerned... I don't see any reason to keep you here. Once you finished your reports, you're free to go," Hetty says.

"You're being extra-nice to us lately, huh?" Sam smirks.

"Oh, I can be extra-_mean_ the following day if you press it," Hetty threatens.

"I won't," Sam holds up his hands in surrender.

"Very well," Hetty nods. With that the short woman walks off.

"So now, Marty...," Kensi looks at him expectantly, stretching the i-sound. Marty frowns at her, "Do I have to be scared now?"

"No, no, my little riddle pal," Kensi assures overly gleefully. Callen and Sam snicker.

"G? You tell me when I'm supposed to run?" Marty asks.

"I don't think you have to," Callen snickers, "... yet."

"Hey! Now, Marty, I think you and I have to spend some quality time together also, since I'm one of the team and all... and coz... you know...," Kensi begins, but Marty's frown only deepens.

"And because we should spend more time together, I wanna have a movie night over at G's place, you know, watching some of the most awesomest DVD's of my collection," Kensi explains.

"... okay... I don't get the point here," Marty shakes his head.

"Well? Whatcha think of it? Now c'mon, don't leave a Lady in the open, that's not nice," Kensi smirks at him.

"Leave you in the open about _what?_ I don't get this," Marty blinks at her. Really, just what does she want?

"Are you up to it?" Kensi asks.

"... are you asking me for permission to do something over at G's place?" Marty stares at her. He knew that those guys, though great, are all a bit... _nuts..._ so to speak, but that is a kind of logic he really doesn't get. Callen turns to Sam to whisper something into his ear, "Already that makes me like the kid."

"Well, he definitely got better manners than you at times," Sam returns.

"I ask if you're fine with it. I mean, if you don't want me around or whatever...," Kensi sighs, but Marty hastily intervenes, "I never said that!"

"Kensi, don't make him upset," Callen threatens in a calm voice.

"Marty, I know you didn't mean it like that," she assures quickly.

"Good, coz I didn't," Marty blinks at her.

"I just wanna know if you'd like a movie night with Callen and I over at his place. I bring pizza and we can watch Titanic backwards if you want, also?" Kensi offers.

"Well, did you ask G about this? Is his place. He says who comes and goes," Marty shrugs.

"I gave my okay," Callen provides quickly.

"Then I think we have plans for the evening... seemingly," Marty frowns.

"Awesome. High five?" Kensi smiles broadly before holding up her palm to him. Marty gives her high five, visibly surprised at her victorious smile and posture, just as though this was the price of prices, "Movie night!"

"Well then. I guess I'll sit that one out and rather spend some time with my family," Sam winks.

"Yeah, and we'll do the same," Callen smirks. He said it - and this time it's actually true. Before, it was always a silent joke between the two, but now... now G goes home to a family also.

"Alright, I'll come by once I have the food and the DVD's. But now is the important question... Marty, what genre are we heading for?" she asks excitedly.

"Is your collection, you decide," Marty repeats. Really, those guys are confusing him.

"This is more to decide whether we can be _best-DVD-buddies-forever-and-ever_. It's very important that you answer truthfully. Favorite genres are?" Kensi questions.

"... horror movies are fun," Marty shrugs. At least the few he got to watch he liked.

_"Fun?"_ Sam grimaces. That is not the first word that comes to mind when he thinks of horror movies. Marty shrugs at this, "Well... the few I watched... they always made me laugh."

"Good, that's good. What else?" Kensi smiles happily – because she thinks _just_ the same.

"... Romantic Comedy?" Marty shrugs.

"Are you serious?!" Sam blurts out.

"Yeah?" Marty shrugs.

"The hell?!" Sam shakes his head. That was the last genre he had in mind.

"They are predictable. I like that. And they are funny in... not being funny," Marty explains. They follow the same pattern. When everything else around you is changing so fast... it's nice to see that some things stay the same after all, even if it's just cheap movie quality.

"That guy's my new DVD-buddy. It's decided," Kensi declares.

"Now you are serious about that?!" Sam asks again. He still can't believe it.

"Hell yeah. He just took my favorites, for my favorite reasons," Kensi explains.

"I'm out of this conversation, _again,"_ Sam rolls his eyes.

"Okay, so... either way. I got some movies to collect, and some pizza to get. I'll meet you over at your place. Movie night, baby!" she almost dances up and down as she leaves the bullpen.

"When's the last time you saw her that excited?" Sam turns to G.

"Probably that one time when Hetty's given her extra-vacation two years ago?" Callen suggests.

"Yeah, where did she go?" Sam frowns.

"Hawaii," Callen snickers.

"Yeah, that explains it," Sam shakes his head. Even if Kensi can be annoying in that state, it's always nice to see her in that state. She is such a tough cookie on the job that you hardly believe she actually has a soft side. Sam and Callen know that of course, but it's on these occasions that you see not only how young she is but also just how much she can enjoy life, if a movie night makes her freak like that.

"Well, either way... Marty, shall we head out?" Callen suggests.

"Sure," Marty shrugs. The three leave the NCIS as well. Hetty stands in the distance, watching the scene with a smile.

* * *

Back over at Callen's place, the agent preps up some glasses and cans of pop to put on the table in the living room. Normally, he'd have to clean up a lot before he could even let someone in, but thanks to Marty, the room is stainless. Maybe Kensi is right, though, that the teenager simply needs distraction. And a movie night might just be it. At least it will give him a feeling of normalcy, _okay_, taking aside the fact that none of them is normal in the normal sense. They are odd, each and everyone in their own way, but at least they can do normal things, like having movie nights with friends. Thinking about it, Callen must admit that he feels very tempted to go to a book store and buy all books on parenting he can find. G Callen never liked walking into a situation unprepared, and this here just now is diving in cold waters. He doesn't want to make mistakes, any at all, because Marty surely doesn't need that on tops of everything else that is going on in his life now, but the agent fears that almost anything can turn out to be a catastrophic mistake. If that is what parenting is all about, then it is certainly not what Callen had in mind when he heard it from Sam all the while. That doesn't mean that he doesn't love doing it, because it's his little brother, but... he's scared, simple as that. And he wasn't scared for the longest of times in his life. It's a feeling G has to get used to again.

He fluffs another pillow as suddenly his younger brother, still sounds odd just thinking about it, comes in and walks up to the door, opens it and then turns back around to pick something up from the ground. Callen frowns at the teenager's actions.

"Any certain reason why you just...," Callen grimaces, but that is when Kensi stands in the door-frame with a few pizza packages and a shoulder bag.

"Well, thank you. That way I don't have to juggle the pizza to knock on the door," Kensi snickers.

"Hi, Kensi," Marty greets her.

"Hi, Marty," she smiles at him. Marty already walks back up to her to take the pizza packages from her.

"Thank you," she smirks. The teenager puts them down on the table. The two agents look at each other, still a little puzzled. Kensi shrugs.

"Marty?" Callen blinks at the teenager. Marty whips his head around to look at the older man, "Yeah?"

"You didn't answer my question," Callen says.

"I opened the door for Kensi...," Marty tilts his head.

"How'd you know Kensi'd come?" Callen asks.

"I heard her coming?" Marty explains with a frown. Just what is the deal?

"You were in the room away from the street," Callen argues.

"I could hear her car, still," Marty shakes his head. Kensi walks up to Callen, leaning over to him, "Of course only you could have a little badass agent in the making to be your brother, G Callen. Runs in your blood," she turns to Marty, "So now, Marty! Let me show you my awesome collection!"

She puts down her bag on the table and starts to show the DVD's to the boy, who is instantly with her and nods at her rambling to each plot and smiles softly and politely as she babbles. Callen smirks at the scene, and at Kensi's words. She's got a point. Maybe it's in his blood after all that he is an agent... and maybe it's in Marty's also?

"Since this is my house, I veto against Romantic Comedy as a first movie, though. I rather wanna watch that to fall asleep to spare myself that brainfrying activity," Callen argues.

"Fine, fine, your call. But you shouldn't place fast judgment. You just have to start watching those movies at a meta-level. Coz then they are friggin' hilarious!" Kensi explains.

"I rather stay on this level and simply fall asleep," Callen retorts.

"Okay, then we should start with some easy starters? What do you think of SAW?" Kensi suggests. Callen almost topples over, "That's easy for starters?"

"Sure as hell," Kensi looks at him incredulously. Really? You just want to show a traumatized boy movies about a mad psycho killer, Kensi? Callen already wants to object, but then Marty says, "It's really not scary, and that's the whole point."

"Fine, then we watch that," Callen grimaces. Well, if he says he's fine... he should be, right?

Kensi puts in the DVD and flops down on the couch next to Marty. Callen sits down on the other side. And so they start eating and chatting about the movies as they go on. Both Kensi and Marty laugh ridiculously at the most violent scenes, as people get impaled and slowly eaten by monsters. Callen laughs at it also, once they point out the joke they see in it. G goes on to say that the detectives all make mistakes in how they handle the guns or how they approach a possible threat. Once they turn to the Love Comedies, Kensi and Marty, almost in the same way, go on about the meta-level of the joke, and that those comedies' fun is that they are exactly not funny and that makes them funny all over again. At some point, G is just too exhausted to fight their insistence anymore and simply gives in and starts to laugh along at the meta-jokes.

As yet another movie draws to the climax, Callen suddenly feels something soft pressing against his ribcage. He turns his eyes to see Marty leaning a little closer to him, not intruding or from sleep, but simply to be close. Callen has to hide the hugest of smiles at the gesture. He knows how much it means to the teenager to keep up any so such body contact and that it is his way of showing that he cares and that he trusts you. Callen notices Kensi glancing at it from the corner of her eyes also, and she winks above the teenager's head at Callen, her way of congratulating him. They continue to watch in all silence. After the last movie's credits are running through, Kensi gets up and puts the DVD's back in place, "Okay, I think is time for me to head out again. We should definitely keep that up. Is so much fun."

"We really should," Callen smiles. This really was an amazing idea, as it turned out.

"You with that, DVD buddy?" Kensi grins.

"Of course," Marty smirks.

"Great. Then we already have our next date. And then I show you some other of the best movies ever. And those that suck so hard that they are good again," Kensi promises.

"Looking forward to that," Marty nods.

"Alright, I'll see you in the morning then. Have a good night, guys," Kensi says.

"You, too," both reply.

"I find the door myself, you just stay as comfy as you are. Bye-bye," she smirks. With that the female agent takes off, waving her goodbye as she turns.

"Well, that was fun," Callen grins.

"Totally," Marty smiles happily.

"You like hanging around with Kensi?" Callen asks.

"She's amazing. I think pretty much anyone of the guys is. I mean... they are, simple as that," Marty shrugs. Cool, amazing, great... yeah, those fit best, to Marty anyways.

"Yeah, they are. And they are damn annoying at times also," Callen grins.

"Show me one guy who isn't at times," Marty returns.

"True again," Callen shrugs. Marty lets out a yawn.

"And I think that was the call for us to grab some shut-eye," Callen winks.

"Might be," Marty nods sleepily.

"Okay, I'll clean up some and you get ready for bed," Callen offers. Marty nods and heads off to the bedroom. Callen gets up from his seat and gathers the boxes together to put the remains on a plate, and then in the fridge, and the packages go into the garbage. He really asks himself why he has people over so rarely. Kensi normally never comes over for movie nights, not to him, that is. She does it with Nell and Eric, too, but him, safe the few times over at Sam's place, where all came together? Not really. They got out for a beer after work, sometimes all of them go out to a restaurant, but just now G realized how little time he spends with the people he calls his family also.

After some time, Marty comes out of the bathroom, changed into a wrinkly tee and pants, "... I'm going to bed, then."

"Alright, uh, have a good night, then," Callen smiles.

"You, too," Marty replies softly. With that the teenager makes his way into the room and closes the door. Callen smirks, drying off his hands and making his way over to the couch to settle down. He watches some more news before he drifts off into sleep.

He can't wait for the next movie night.


	11. The First Test

Author's Note: Even if I'm repeating myself, thank you so much for your great response to my story. Never expected it. Still find it totally amazing. As someone who's still new to the business, this is actually still blowing my mind.  
As some reviewers pointed out, my characters are kinda OOC, even if I hoped I captured them vaguely, but I guess you can't copy perfection, therefore I added the OOC-warning in the summary. I hope now people know what they are heading for when they wanna read my story ;)

Little Warning: I tried my best at editing the stuff I had so far so that you can keep reading, but now I reached the point where I still have to bridge between this timeline and the next major plot I have in mind. That and the fact that I have still two term papers to write means that I won't be able to update so fast after this chapter. I hope you forgive me that, but I will surely try to make it up to you by posting a fitting and (hopefully) good story with no gaping hole in it... and hopefully faster than I fear ;) I'll try my best and my fastest not to leave you in the open for too long, sorry ;)

* * *

The next morning, G wakes up at some screeching of wheels outside. A quick check reveals that someone seemingly didn't know how to use the car properly and ended up messing with the brakes. The agent shakes his head with a smirk. He walks over to Marty's, well, _his_ bedroom and opens the door slightly ajar to peek in. But much to his surprise the bed is empty. He knows Marty wasn't in the living room, nor the kitchen, and the bathroom door was open and the light was off. Worry tugs at him as he opens the door further, his eyes scanning the area. G makes a couple of steps inside over to the bed. And that is when he finds his kid brother... beside it, on the ground. He also notices that the kid didn't just fall off, because the bed is ever so neatly made, only the cushion and the over-blanket missing for him to sleep on. That means he purposely sleeps down there. As if on cue, Marty's eyes open abruptly, instantly meeting Callen's. He, within split-seconds, is up in the corner, looking frightened and ashamed. His breath hitches. Callen, at a loss, wants to step closer, but Marty only withdraws further, even if that seems hardly possible. G puts up his arms in surrender, "Is just me. No need to be upset."

Marty takes in the information, and after a couple of seconds snaps out of it. The fear is now fully replaced by shame, though.

"Hey, uhm, it's okay. I just came in to check on you and when I didn't find you in your bed... I...," Callen explains in a soft voice. Marty licks his lips, intending to say something, but then doesn't.

"... why don't you sleep in bed, Marty?" Callen questions faintly. Marty shrugs at him. The older brother kneels down, keeping a safe distance not to startle the kid, "Why do you sleep on the ground, Marty?"

"I... fell," Marty brings out. Yeah, right. He wouldn't believe that himself.

"The bed's made. You didn't sleep in it at all," Callen argues, keeping his voice purposely calm.

"Don't wanna talk about it," Marty mutters.

"Marty," Callen sighs, but then the teenager stares at him with pleading eyes, "Please."

"... okay. Okay, we'll... we'll talk about it later, alright?" Callen offers. He doesn't want to upset him any further. Marty nods, actually gratefully, releasing a breath he must have held ever since waking up.

"Okay, uhm... how about... how about you get changed and all... and I just... I fix breakfast?" Callen says, trying to change not only the topic, but also the mood. Marty nods his thanks, probably just glad to get out of this situation to calm his own nerves. Callen is fighting every of his instincts to keep himself calm and simply leave the kid to his sorrow, but he knows that in that state, he won't get anything from Marty and it will only expand the torture. Sometimes you have to retreat to win the war. G gets back up and starts to walk over to the door, "If there's something, you just yell for me, alright? I'm just round the corner."

"Kay," Marty mumbles. Callen leaves, his heart aching at the edges, before he carries out the task of preparing breakfast, trying to find comfort in the act of doing something, and not brooding over Marty. Said teenager walks in, now fully clothed, looking better, a few minutes later, "I'm sorry."

"What?" Callen grimaces at him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... you know," Marty bites his lower lip.

"There's nothing to be sorry for, okay? I just that it confuses me. Is the bed uncomfortable or so? I mean, we can get you another mattress or whatever?" Callen asks. He just wants to know what's wrong so he can fix it.

"No, no, that's not it. It's _definitely_ not about the... mattress, please," Marty waves his hands. Really, he shouldn't be that nice. Why is G always that nice?!

"Then what is it?" Callen questions.

"I just... I...," he pauses, staring at his cereal.

"What?" Callen asks, now in a softer voice.

"I just can't seem to get used to it," Marty admits. There is no point in holding that back now, is there? His older brother already saw him cowering on the ground like a baby, so he can hardly deny it.

"Used to... _a bed_?" Callen blinks at him.

"More the act of sleeping in it. I spent the last years sleeping on old mattresses or on my jacket. I am not used to that kinda sensation...," Marty says, not meeting the older brother's eyes. He knows he should be grateful for it, but... he can't bring himself to it.

"... okay," Callen swallows. Well, that explains that... It's not great, but at least he's being honest about it.

"I mean... I try, you know? I lie down when I go to bed, each time, but then I have the feeling I'm drowning in the soft material and I just... I'm not used to it. I'm trying, but... now... I just can't," Marty brings out, feeling utterly ridiculous. Who is so stupid to refuse a good bed, huh? Stupid. Just stupid.

"Hey, that's okay," Callen assures quickly.

"It is?" Marty blinks at him. How is that okay? He refuses a gift? That is not nice. It's not good, not okay, is it?

"I was just scared that you didn't want to sleep in the bed coz you felt like, I don't know, you didn't deserve it whatever, or because it was hurting your back. That's the only reason why I asked. If you don't feel ready for it, that's no shame. Believe me, I'm the last one to complain," Callen huffs.

"Why?" Marty frowns at the older man. He thought this was just one of his personal kinks.

"I used to camp at the NCIS for a while, before Hetty forced me to get an apartment. I slept on my Army bag. Trust me, that bed was also bought just to make the others shut up," Callen admits honestly. It's truth told. Even before Marty bumped into his life, he usually camped on the couch, if not on that Army bag. He can really relate to that.

"... so we have something in common," Marty grimaces, trying to smile.

"Yeah, we both aren't dependent on a bed for good sleep," Callen smirks.

"Thanks," Marty mumbles silently, taking another spoonful of the cereal.

"Not for that," Callen smiles softly. That is something he can deal with, safe for the panic attack.

_"Yes_ for that. Thanks for... caring," Marty insists. You have to say it to make it real. It's what they always said in the ring. Only that makes it real.

"Hey, I'm your... big brother. That I care is part of the definition, and I'm glad for that," Callen argues. Marty offers a sweet little smile, Callen grins back. Both continue their meal in all silence before they drive to the NCIS. They are greeted by an upset-looking Kensi.

"Morning," Callen frowns. Kensi almost jumps over to him, "Morning! Uhm, Callen, we got an itsi bitsi tiny little problem?"

"That would be?" Callen grimaces. If Kensi Blye starts using so many words to play something down, be sure it's big, because normally she is not the type for that. Definitely not.

"CPS is here," Kensi says simply, biting her lower lip.

_"What?!_ We didn't schedule a meet yet," Callen exclaims. He surely would've marked _that_ in the calendar!

"I know. And Hetty already talked to them, but Cole said that there is some kinda urgency to get this straight. I don't know what this is about, but... uhm... they are in the conference room. You and Marty should straightly head there," Kensi explains.

"That sucks," Callen mutters. He suddenly gets something thrown at him. G looks at a white dress shirt and a tie now in his hand. Callen glances up to catch his Sam's eyes, "Making a good first impression can never harm. If you keep them waiting for two minutes longer won't make the difference. They didn't tell you that they'd be here, so they can hardly blame you for being late. C'mon, you look like a hobo."

"Shut up, Sam... thanks," Callen sighs. He quickly deposits his stuff on the table.

"Marty? We put one of your dress shirts here also. If you want, you can change into a more... formal style, too. So that Callen feels less embarrassed about this. Whatcha think?" Kensi offers in a soft voice. Marty nods, nervousness all over his features. Kensi guides him to the changing rooms while Callen is already stripping out of his own shirt, it's not like Sam has never seen his bare chest before, and it's not like he bothered even if he had not.

"Did you talk to them?" Callen asks, assessing the situation, trying to be an angent right now.

"Only briefly," Sam grimaces.

"What do I have to suspect?" Callen asks.

"Stiff bureaucrats, easy as that. You handled those before in millions, G. Just play your part and you'll be fine. This is probably just some signing you'll have to do," Sam assures him, figuring that it might be best to act as the calm voice of reason now.

"Well, that they come here without announcement kinda makes me suspicious," Callen grimaces. Really, just why didn't they call him?

"You'll be fine," Sam reassures him.

"Well, I wouldn't be too sure," Callen sighs.

"What now?" Sam asks.

"If they question us or something... heck, Sam! I don't even know the kid. And he barely knows me! What if they...," Callen starts to ramble, but Sam holds up his hands to stop him, "They can't demand that from you and they won't. Now don't be a sissy, G. You are a top agent who deals with bombers and human traffickers and terrorists. I think you can handle a few guys from CPS. They don't even carry weapons."

"I find that easier sometimes, if they do," Callen grumbles.

"Why?" Sam frowns. Callen shrugs, "Then I have a reason to shoot them in the face."

"That is of course a point," Sam chuckles. Marty comes back, now in a plain blue dress shirt.

"Ready to go?" she says, keeping up a positive attitude.

"Sure. C'mon, Marty. We'll just sign those stupid forms and then send them to hell, shall we?" Callen joins. Marty nods faintly. They head upstairs to where they are already awaited by Mr. Cole and two more people from CPS, along with Hetty.

"Ah, Mr. Callen, Mr. Deeks! There you are. We were already waiting for you," Hetty greets them. Even if she is good at playing it calm, you can see that she is _not pleased_.

"Traffic. You know how it is," Callen winks at her.

"Well, if I may introduce you. You already talked to Mr. Cole, and those are his colleagues Mrs. Chambers and Mr. Wilson," Hetty explains. Callen nods at them, "Pleasure, I'm Special Agent G Callen."

"Have a seat, Mr. Callen, Martin," Mr. Cole orders, motioning at the two to sit down, which they do abruptly. Hetty has to try hard not to smirk that they do it just the same way. Callen, thanks to his ability, can very well hide his nervousness, while Marty visibly struggles. This is probably the shittiest of timings ever.

"So, what bring you here? I mean, I thought that we would wait with the formalities until Marty's a bit better. He's still healing from the injury he suffered, you know," Callen begins.

"And we are well aware of that, Mr. Callen, yet... such things shouldn't be delayed too far. Or else we run a lot of trouble. Now... we are aware that the circumstances are very... _rare_, so to speak. Yet, we have to follow the rules. Ms. Lange already gave us the results of the DNA test to confirm your shared heredity," Cole explains.

"Good," Callen nods. Yeah, suck that.

"Yet, it is difficult for us in that regard, because you don't even know each other," Cole carries on. Of course that had to come.

"Well...," Callen starts, but Cole interrupts, "Let me speak up, Mr. Callen. You can ask questions later. Now. We are trying to act in Martin's interest. And that is what we have to figure. That he was allowed to stay with you was only on a provisional basis and is a lot due to your boss's insistence."

Hetty smirks at him, Cole remains stoic, though. He carries on, "So... the question is how we answer Martin's needs the most proper way. Since he is a teenager, and at least partly able to tell what is within his interest, I would like to talk to him about his wishes and expectations."

"Okay, sure," Callen nods. That sounds... reasonable?

"For that you'll go outside, so that we can talk to him without you as a kind of pressure on him," Cole explains. Callen grimaces, "I'm..."

"Since I will have to leave as well, why don't we get ourselves some tea, Mr. Callen, shall we?" Hetty intervenes. G glances at her, but then gives in, "Okay... uhm... Marty?"

The boy turns to him with pleading eyes and Callen would just love to take him some other place.

"We'll be back in a bit. No need to be scared. Those are all nice people, okay? Just tell them the truth, alright?" Callen assures, hoping that Marty takes it to heart.

"Mr. Callen, now," Cole urges.

"Okay, G," Marty replies weakly. G nods another time, with that Hetty and Callen go outside. He runs a shaky hand over his face, "They will bore through him with questions about us and all. He was not all up to it this morning. That is the worst timing ever."

"Have a bit of faith in Mr. Deeks, Mr. Callen. He can very well defend himself, as you got to know yourself," Hetty argues.

"What? Yeah, of course. But I also know that he kinda likes to shut down when he is under pressure – and under authorities. And those guys are the impersonation of authority to him. They really should have waited till later. Then maybe we could've had another session with Nate before...," his voice trails off, but Hetty holds up her hands, "Now, Mr. Callen, we can't change that this is how it is. For now, we should just hope that Mr. Cole is not as mean as he appears and that Mr. Deeks will find the spirit it takes to move past this obstacle."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I would just rather be in there, to encourage him," Callen admits.

"They wouldn't understand that. To them, this would only be means to bias him in his opinion to stay with you, and you know that," Hetty argues.

"Yeah," Callen sighs. Crap, simply... _crap._

* * *

Meanwhile, inside: Marty shuffles on his chair, trying to find a spot to sit on that doesn't hurt from the tension building up in his muscles, but finds none.

"Now, Martin," Cole glances up from his papers. Marty blinks at him, "Yes?"

"Did you understand what I just said before Mr. Callen left?" Cole asks, actually nicer than Marty had pictured.

"Yes?" Marty grimaces. Of course he heard him.

"So you do understand that we are trying to find out what is best for you – and that we want to do that in accordance to what you wish for," Cole says.

"Yes," Marty nods.

"Very well. So, first of all I will tell you about your options. I want you to honestly consider them, okay? Take your time. Think about them," Cole says, making a short pause before he continues, "Before we start, I would like to ask you about your parents, though. In the reports it doesn't say..."

"Gone," Marty replies, not even making a face. That is a topic he doesn't touch anymore. It's over. Closed case. Never again. At some point he is glad that one can no longer tell for sure where he came from. It's like footprints in the sand. The ocean just washes them away.

"And you're sure...," Cole questions, but Marty's features only harden, "Yes."

"Okay... well, as for the other options... you could go back to a foster house, as you did for a while, as far as I learned from the reports we do have."

Marty's fists tighten, though he keeps a straight face.

"You could also be put in a temporary foster family," Cole goes on. Marty's fists tighten further, and he can feel the prickle of blood.

"Then there is still the option of adoption, though I have to warn you that this step will most likely involve foster family or foster house before you get there. You are a teenager, and...," Cole explains, but Marty nods with a fake smile, "Not a cute baby. People rarely adopt teenagers."

"Exactly. The next option would be to go into a board in care home. That means that you'd get to live with boys around your age with a supervisor. You would attend school and check-ups, but you are not put in a family in that kind of context. You can start an apprenticeship and once you are 18, you can either stay or move out and start to work. That is up to you," Cole explains.

"Alright... what else?" Marty asks. Not that he actually cares...

"Well, you could go into the care of a relative of yours," Cole goes on.

"You mean G," Marty states than asks.

"Mr. Callen or _anyone_ else of the family. That is what I'm trying to make you understand. Even if you choose this option, you have no obligation to stay with your half-brother. You have any chance to go stay with an aunt or uncle or whoever else," Mr. Cole insists.

"But... I could stay with G," Marty insists in turn.

_"Legally,_ yes," Cole admits.

"Okay, then I take the last option," Marty blurts out.

"You didn't think about this all too long," Cole argues.

"I thought about it ever since the news reached me, Sir. I...," Marty returns.

"Look, I see that he was very nice to you and that you want to spend time with him, but that doesn't mean you have to stay with him. You can visit him. Just because you don't live together doesn't mean you can't have a relationship. I want you to understand that," Mr. Cole underlines.

"I do. But I want to stay here. I like it here," Marty repeats. That's the thing: people just don't get it. He can scream it out and they don't hear him. Why isn't anyone listening?! Just how loud does he have to shout?!

"But you are aware that your brother, as an agent, will hardly be at home. He will be off for assignments and other missions," Mr. Wilson intervenes.

"... yeah," Marty nods. He is not stupid or delusional, not more than most people anyways.

"Well, with an aunt or uncle of no such profession, you might have more luck," Ms. Chambers provides. Why are those guys here again? Marty doesn't know what to make of this.

"I'm fifteen, nearly sixteen. I don't need someone around me all this time," Marty argues. The hell, he lived years without someone around all the time – and he _survived!_

"Of course. And no one is questioning it. Yet, you have to see that there are a lot of things that have to be done, especially given your situation," Mr. Wilson argues.

"You think I'm nuts," Marty snorts.

"No, Martin, but you have a trauma to deal with. And perhaps it would be better to have a specialist have a look at you," Mr. Cole argues.

"And an aunt is much more an expert than my brother?" Marty grimaces.

"She or he might have more time to spend on that matter than your brother would. We are trying to act in your interest, Martin. But that also involves the best kind of care for you and your situation," Mr. Cole explains.

"We are dealing with it," Marty quips.

_"We?"_ Ms. Chambers frowns at him.

"G and I. We can do this," Marty replies curtly. He dares to hope. He puts his hope in his brother. He is the one "family" he knows who didn't deceive him yet. Everyone gets at least one try, right?

"I don't think it is within your capabilities to see so far," Cole argues.

"Sir, without trying to appear impolite: Neither can you. No one can. We don't know what the future brings. Whether or not this pans out... who knows? All I know is that I want to stay with my brother. And if what you say isn't just a lie, then acting in my interest would be to allow me to stay with him, because that is what I want," Marty argues, with a force that even surprises him.

"You must be aware, though, that you'd be closely observed, to make sure that you are properly taken care of," Mr. Cole explains.

"For as long as that ensures that I get a chance to stay with him, then yes," Marty snorts.

"Why are you so persistent in staying with him?" Cole questions.

"Because I was in foster families – and I hated it. I was in foster houses – and I hated it. And all other relatives I do know personally I know about as much as I know G, which means I know them little to nothing at all – and those relatives I do know better – I hate also," Marty shakes his head vehemently. Marty doesn't even have the words to describe just how much he hates them all.

"Now, now, such harsh words," Cole grimaces at the sudden outburst, "So you know some of them."

"Yes, I know some of them. And those guys live all over the US. I think you'll have better chances finding the Holy Grail than those guys. And that doesn't mean they are like the Holy Grail... coz that would make them... important," Marty snorts.

"Why are you so much against it?" Ms. Chambers asks. Well, isn't it obvious?!

"Because I don't like them and I don't want to stay with them. Staying with them would not be in my interest, _at all_," Marty insists.

"But staying wtih your brother would be," Mr. Cole asks again.

"Yes!" Marty cries out. Didn't he say that already?!

"Why?" Mr. Wilson asks.

"He cares for me," Marty replies simply.

"And that is something other family members or foster families would do also," Ms. Chambers argues.

"I don't mean care as in tend or feed. He does that, too, of course, but... I mean... he _cares_, he cares about me, wants to get to know me. He takes me for _who_ I am, not _what_ I am," Marty brings out. He probably shouldn't say that to those guys, but... well, now it's too late anyways.

"Where is the difference?" Mr. Cole frowns at him. _Of course_ that guy doesn't get it.

"Most people see in me... what you see in me: a needy teenager from a rough background who can't decide for himself thanks to the trauma he seemingly suffered from. G sees me for who I am, he sees me, Marty. He asks me why I struggle with certain things, he simply approaches stuff and I... I feel cared for. I feel... I feel... loved? And I don't want to lose that," Marty admits. Okay, let's screw staying rational, this is an emotional All In.

"No one would just plainly cut off contact to you and your brother, but perhaps it would bring you greater stability to get to know him before moving in together," Mr. Cole argues.

"I don't need stability, I need G!" Marty curses. Does he really have to stand up to make it clear that he is All In?

"Martin, now calm down, please," Ms. Chambers tries in a soothing voice, but Marty is having none of it, "No, you come here and then you tell me that you want to act in my interest, though you try to convince me that what I actually want is not what I should want. You say you leave me a choice, but you try to twist it into your own, or that of CPS. I don't care which one. You say you want to act in my interest, well, then please act in my interest and listen to what I have to say. I have a mouth and I can speak for myself! I know what I want – and I WANT TO STAY WITH G."

"There is no need to get upset, Martin," Cole assures, but that only angers Marty more, "Yes, because no one's listening to me."

"I very well hear you," Mr. Cole argues.

"But you don't seem convinced," Marty hisses.

"Oh, do I not?" Mr. Cole asks. Marty shakes his head vehemently, "Please, Sir, I beg you: let me stay with him. Don't rip me away from him. _Please."_

Darn, he swore to himself to never go begging again, not like this, but... but this matters, right? Sometimes you swallow your damn pride, get on your knees and beg, right? If it's worth it? Because it's worth it.

"We don't want to rip you away from him in any way, Martin, rest assured," Ms. Chambers soothes.

"So I get to stay with him?" Marty quips.

"That is not solely up to me to decide, but I note that you have the expressive wish to stay with your brother. We will consider that when deciding on your living conditions – and we will try to act according to that wish of yours if it meets your needs. Is that okay?" Mr. Cole asks calmly. Marty nods his head sadly.

"Very well. Thank you for the conversation. You may now go outside. We will now talk to Mr. Callen another time," Cole informs him. Marty gets up from his chair and goes outside. Callen almost jumps as the kid comes out, "Hey, buddy, how did it go?"

Marty shrugs sadly, "I don't know... he wants to talk to you now."

"Oh, okay, uhm...," Callen grimaces, but Hetty already jumps into action, "Focus, Mr. Callen. Calm and cool-headed, hm?"

"Right, right...," Callen nods. He can do this. He sucks in a few deep breaths before he enters the room.

"Would you like to have some tea with me downstairs, Mr. Deeks?" Hetty asks.

"No, thank you, I just wanna stay here," Marty whispers.

"May I ask you what you told them?" Hetty questions curiously.

"The truth," Marty replies simply.

"That is always the best of options, so I believe," Hetty smirks.

* * *

Meanwhile, Callen got into his seat in front of the three people interrogating him. It's still odd to him to be at the other end of the table now... normally he would call in Sam now and they'd do the good-cop-bad-cop on those three, but now... now he has to answer the questions.

"So, Mr. Callen," Mr. Cole begins, knocking a stack of papers on the table before putting them back down.

"Yes?" Callen replies, glancing at him.

"After having spoken to Martin about his wishes, we will turn to you now," Mr. Cole carries on. G nods, "Sure."

"So you have interest in taking Martin in, permanently?" Mr. Wilson jumps in. Callen grimaces. _It talks_. He thought the other two were just for decoration.

_"Yes!_ Yes, of course. He's my little brother," Callen replies frantically, the next moment, he takes a deep breath, trying to ease. He shouldn't seem too eager or they might get the wrong idea. Calm and cool-headed.

"Do you have any experience with children so far?" Mr. Cole asks.

"... I was in foster families before, so I... babysitted in some context. I took care of the younger ones," Callen explains.

"I see, but around the time you became agent?" Mr. Cole questions further. Of course he has to bring that up.

"I sometimes babysit my partner's children, two girls," Callen says, well... babysitting in a broad sense, but Sam would surely say the same thing. He's their uncle after all.

"I see," Mr. Cole nods, writing something down.

"And I'm really good at this," Callen lies smoothly. He got better. After the girls stopped to cry every time he came by... they even played with him. And Marty is fine-ish.

"Aha. But you are aware that with Martin it is not just some babysitting you will have to do. We are talking about being a parent to a troubled teenager. You cannot return him to someone else once the night is over or when it gets too difficult. It is a lot of responsibility," Cole argues. Yeah, _no shit_, huh? Who could have guessed? Callen has to try hard not roll his eyes at the man, so instead he says in a nice voice, "All of which I'm more than willing to take, Mr. Cole."

"At the same time this means extensive care, especially on the psychological level. We are talking about therapy and dealing with conditions such as PTSD, even," Cole informs him.

"I dealt with soldiers and agents who suffered _just_ from that, Sir. And we have one of the top psychologists of the agency here. Once he is off his assignment abroad, he is already enlisted to help us deal with Marty's trauma," Callen returns, feeling as though he is finally getting the upper hand here. He can see that Mr. Cole didn't see that one coming. Ha!

"And you think a psychologist who is specialized in dealing with agents is the best of choices?" Ms. Chambers intervenes. Okay, so it's decided: Callen likes none of them.

"You didn't get to know Nate yet. He can deal with _anything._ And if Marty's having PTSD for real, he is one of the leading psychologists in that field. But even if that doesn't work, we can simply take another. I will find someone who is fitting Marty's purposes. I don't care for who it is for as long as Marty gets the help he needs. I just thought that he might trust Nate because he knows that I trust him. That's all I had in mind," Callen explains, well, that's what Hetty surely had in mind when she called up Nate, but G gave it some thought and came to the same conclusion, so yeah, he had that in mind.

"Aha. And you wouldn't mind closer observation of you and your actions? Because that would be quite natural to us to make sure that you don't do harm to Marty or his healing process?" Mr. Cole now almost threatens. Callen nods calmly, "Do whatever you think is right. I'll deal with it, I promise you that."

"This is not about promises, Mr. Callen," Mr. Cole argues.

"What else am I supposed to say to make you believe that I'd do anything for the kid?" Callen returns. Really, what can he say other than he promises to work his ass off?

"You would have to prove that," Mr. Wilson provides.

"Then give me the opportunity to," Callen returns.

"That is not within our powers, and not within Martin's interest either. It's not about you proving yourself to someone, Mr. Callen. It's about Martin and Martin alone," Mr. Cole argues sternly. Callen's features sag at that in defeat, "... what did Marty say about this? Does he wanna stay?"

"I'm not allowed to talk about this," Mr. Cole shakes his head.

"He said he wanted to leave?" Callen blinks at him. No, that can't be, can it?

"I did not say that," Mr. Cole argues.

"Please, I... I want him to stay, above anything else I want him to stay, but... but if that's not what he wants, then... then do whatever he does want," Callen brings out, biting his lower lip. If Marty doesn't want to stay with him, then... then he has to deal with that. He just wants his brother to be good. He has to be good.

"So you would be fine if I sent him off some other district, forbid contact to you until decided otherwise?" Cole asks, now almost playfully.

"... I wouldn't like that, I would definitely hate that, but... but I would live with that if that is what Marty wants. I want him to be good again. If he can't do that with me around... then that is so. I will have to accept that. Marty needs to get better again, everything else... it will have to wait," Callen declares. Shit, did he just say that out loud?!

"... okay, I think we have heard enough. Thank you for your time, we will tell you about our decision once we discussed the details. Until the decision is made, Martin will be left in your care," Cole declares, closing the folder. He gets up, the others along with him.

"That's all?" Callen grimaces, involuntarily standing up also. That comes kind of... unexpected.

"That's all. As I said, we will tell you about our decision," Mr. Cole nods.

"But...," Callen babbles helplessly.

"Good day, Mr. Callen," Mr. Cole intervenes sternly. With that the three head for the door.

"Miss Hetty, Martin," Cole nods at the two before the three take off without another word. Callen still stands near the table, one hand on his hip, the other gripping the back of his head.

"That was... _sudden_. What did they say, Mr. Callen?" Hetty asks, still a bit perplex. Callen still breathes through his nose to calm himself.

"Mr. Callen?" Hetty asks again.

"... they... they will tell us about their decision once they made it. For now, Marty is supposed to stay with me," Callen grimaces.

"Well, that is good news, isn't it?" Hetty frowns.

"Cole kinda threatened me that he'd... I mean...," Callen stammers, but then turns to Marty, "What did you say to him?"

"Huh?" the teenager blinks at him.

"I... Cole acted as though you didn't wanna stay with me. Don't you wanna stay with me?" Callen asks. He just _has_ to know.

"What? No! I didn't. I mean... I told him that I wanna stay with you. Why? Did you say you didn't?!" Marty stares daggers at him.

"No, of course not," Callen shakes his head. Hetty has to try hard not to smile, because they look so much alike once again.

"... I don't like this guy," Marty grumbles.

"Me neither," Callen snorts.

"Now, both of you, stay calm. This is nothing to worry about. He is supposed to be mean and test you. I would actually be disappointed if he would give Mr. Deeks into your care that easily," Hetty jumps in. Callen glances at her, "What?"

"He is responsible for all those children, that they don't end up in a bad family, with the wrong people who do them harm. And that is something you only bypass if you question thoroughly, something you should be well familiar with, Mr. Callen," Hetty explains.

"But... I'm none of the bad guys," Callen insists. He's a friggin' agent, doesn't that count at some point?

"If that is so, then there is nothing we should fear, hm?" Hetty suggests.

"Yeah, yeah... right," Callen mutters.

"So, no teary faces, Mr. Callen. Nothing is settled yet, other than that Mr. Cole seemingly trusts you enough to take care of Mr. Deeks until decided otherwise. That means he cannot totally mistrust you," Hetty encourages. Callen thinks about it for a couple of seconds, but then has to agree, "Yeah, you're right."

"So now that this is dealt with, how about we all return to normalcy and get to work?" Hetty suggests.

"Sounds like a plan to me," Callen nods. Marty nods absently. The three walk back downstairs. The other two agents are anxiously watching them.

"How'd it go?" Kensi asks nervously.

"They will tell us about their decision some time later. Until then, Marty stays with me," Callen tells her.

"... well, it's no 'no', is it?" Sam shrugs.

"Yeah, right, okay, uhm... we should just work, do our job, do something productive," Callen throws his hands in the air. He just has to do something, _anything_ to keep his mind away from the danger of losing Marty.

"Everything okay?" Sam asks.

"I just wanna punch something really, really bad. I hate this Cole-person! But other than that, I'm peachy," Callen mutters. Sam snickers at the comment, "Hey, c'mon, guy is just trying to do his job."

"He could be less of a jerk while at it, though," Callen mutters.

"G, c'mon," Sam sighs.

"God, I don't know how I could ever forget why I hated CPS altogether, it's coz of such people! Argh!" Callen throws his hands in the air in exasperation.

"Callen, nothing's settled yet, so... chill," Kensi assures. Yeah, ever since Marty bumped into Callen's life, the man is nothing like he used to, or well... sure, it's still G Callen, but now there is also the guy who freaks out that he pouts like a kid, almost.

"I chill once I have the... decision of whether I'm capable of taking care of my brother. Until then – I'm all up for havoc," Callen threatens.

"Do I have to confiscate your gun?" Sam asks with mock calm.

"I don't think you'd manage to find them all," Callen returns.

"Oh dear. Marty, maybe you can calm him... _Marty?"_ Kensi means to say, but then glances at the spot where Marty stood, but is now no longer, "He was there a second ago!"

"Marty?" Callen calls out. Panic starts to surge through him as suddenly there is movement beside him now. Callen, startled, looks to his right, to see Marty standing there. Sam and Callen both almost jump simultaneously.

"I just had a heart-attack," Sam clenches his chest.

"You are sneaky, my friend," Kensi snickers. Really, that guy is a bundle of surprises.

"What is it, kiddo?" Callen asks. Marty suddenly holds up a pillow from the lounge. All frown.

"... do you want me to take a nap, or what?" the older brother asks with a grimace.

"You said you need to punch something. Punch the pillow," Marty offers. And that is when suddenly all anger leaves Callen and he cracks up smiling. He takes the pillow from him, "Thank you."

He starts to run his fist into the pillow and actually finds himself relaxing. Marty stands next to him, head tilted curiously.

"Why aren't you distressed, you tell me?" Callen frowns.

Marty glances at him with huge eyes, "Should I be?"

"No, no! I'm just wondering coz I'm a nervous wreck now, but you are not. Not that I mind at all, because I don't, but...," Callen grimaces.

"I'm just... I don't know... ever felt like... oh, forget it," Marty shakes his head. He's being silly again.

"Now say it already," Callen smirks encouragingly.

"To me it feels like... I have faith that this will play out. That's all I'm saying. I'm daring to hope," Marty admits.

"Quite the poet, huh?" Kensi whistles. All fall silent for a while.

They, too, dare to hope.


	12. Psychologist To The Rescue

Author's Note: Hey guys! Thanks again for the great feedback. This is too cool to be true. And yay, I can actually post this chapter faster than I had estimated, you guys are just motivating me to throw all plans overboard and focus on writing and editing and more writing again. The gaping hole still remains, but I already have some ideas to fill it, I just have to write it down ;)  
Okay, without spoilering too much, whatever accounts I do on "medical conditions" I have from the internet, hence some articles I read, so I don't guarantee for accuracy. I hope I grasped the general idea, though ;)  
Hope you'll enjoy.  
Read and review as you wish. I'm looking forward to it ;)

* * *

A couple of days later, all have calmed down from the shock of CPS showing up on their doorsteps. It's funny how fast you can go back to routine, really, but fussing about it won't change a thing and won't make those guys move any faster in their decision, so the plan is to stay calm and simply wait till they have signed their funny papers.

Currently, the three agents are filling out reports while Marty sits with Callen, lazily flopping an apple from right to left.

"Will you eat it or just play with it?" Callen asks. Marty flops it again, "I guess the latter."

Callen rolls his eyes. Marty still struggles eating at times, even if one should think that this is the least of concerns, but Marty told him that he is not used to eating so regularly and it just takes a bit of time for him to get used to it. The deal is that Callen gets to remind him, but that Marty chooses the time, safe for breakfast, because this starts to become their little ritual. What bothers Callen sometimes is that Marty still hides food, out of habit. But... there is worse. For as long as he eats something, Callen is fine if he "steals" a cookie once in a while.

"I'm up for holidays," Kensi sighs burying her head in her hands. She hates paperwork.

"You're always up for holidays," Sam grumbles.

"True," she sighs, "But I would take an actual case also."

Hetty comes up to them.

"Hey Hetty, do we have a case?" Kensi asks hopefully.

"I fear not so, Ms. Blye," Hetty shrugs. Kensi buries her head in her arms again.

"She needs some action," Sam supplies with a wink. Hetty nods, "Well, even if I can't help with that, I still have some news..."

"Please, let them be good," Kensi mutters.

"Surely hope so," rings a voice behind them. They turn around to see Nate standing there.

"Nate!" Kensi almost jumps from her chair.

"Hey, is good to see you guys," he winks at them as Kensi gives him a brief hug. The other agents get up also to shake hands and do the "man-hug".

"Yo, man. How was Britain?" Sam asks with a smirk.

"Different?" Nate supplies with a shrug.

"I was actually surprised that you went to UK. I thought your job's usually some other part of the world," Callen grimaces. Nate replies, "Well, it was urgent that I got there. It was new for me also, but... also nice for a change."

"I bet you were happy to finally be out of the desert for once," Sam winks.

"You got no idea," Nate grins. Callen turns around to see Marty still in his chair, glancing at them. G quickly walks up to him and motions the teenager to get up, which he does.

"Nate? May I introduce you? This is Marty, my little brother. Marty? This is Nate Getz, he's our operational psychologist," Callen says.

"Hi," Nate greets him nicely. Marty eyes him suspiciously before saying, "Hello."

"Well, truth to be told, I suggested that Mr. Getz should come by to get to know you, Mr. Deeks," Hetty jumps in. She and Nate discussed on the phone how to approach the topic best, and came up with the plan that she takes it upon herself that she ordered him here, so that the "blame" is off of Callen's shoulders. They know this is a touchy topic, so they have to be cautious.

"That sounds like therapy to me," Marty tilts his head.

"Only if you want it to," Nate assures. Marty grimaces.

"Well, I've been with Nate as my psychologist for a while, we all have been, so we can... highly recommend him," Callen tries to return to a more positive mood.

"It doesn't have to be, just so that we understand each other, Marty, but if you want me to, I'll be glad to give it a try and talk to you also," Nate offers.

"Aha, well, sure," Marty mumbles with a shrug of his shoulders. No one expected him to like this, so that makes sense.

"Great, so, I would suggest that the three of us meet some time to get acquainted?" Nate suggests.

"Sure, morrow?" Marty asks – and that gets all of them to stare at him.

"Yeah, sure, why not? I'm looking forward to it," Nate nods.

"Well, well, well, now that we settled that, I will excuse the both of us, we still have some things to get clear," Hetty intervenes. She motions for Nate to follow. He nods, waves at the others, and then trots after her.

"I hope we didn't overrun you with this," Callen grimaces.

"No, no. I guessed as much," Marty shrugs, "So... Nate Getz."

"Yeah, we've all had our check-ups with him, he's a good man," Sam assures quickly.

"Yeah, no, okay. Is fine. Uhm... G?" Marty blinks at his older brother.

"What is it?" Callen asks.

"Can I use one of the computers? I wanna play this game... what was it again, Kensi?" the teen glances at the Junior Agent.

"Minecraft," Kensi provides.

"That," Marty nods.

"What? Yeah, sure, you do that," Callen shrugs. Marty nods, bites into his apple, and walks off.

"That was... _positive,_ right?" Kensi grimaces.

"I don't know... that was almost _too_ smooth," Callen makes a face.

"Don't meet trouble halfway, G. If he's fine with it... then let him be fine with it," Sam argues.

"Yeah, yeah, you're probably right...," Callen sighs. Even if he is not too convinced. He doesn't know Marty much, but that was definitely too easy. After that, they get back to work.

…

The next day, Callen and Marty drive to the boatshed first thing in the morning, for their first therapy session, or as Sam coins it: couple therapy. The psychologist told Callen over the phone that it might be good to take a setting Marty knows, but that is apart from the others, so that he doesn't feel pressure, which is why they chose the boatshed. Nate is already waiting for them.

"Hey, is good to see you, glad you could make it," Nate greets them.

"Hey, yeah, well, it's good that Hetty knows about everything. She is actually giving us the time. Sam's already complaining," Callen smirks.

"Yeah, I guess you're her favorite after all, so now... why don't we just take a seat?" Nate suggests. The two brothers nod and sit down on the couch.

"So, Marty, first of all I would like to know if you have questions about me or what I do," Nate starts.

"Not really," Marty shrugs.

"Sure?" Nate asks again.

"Yeah," Marty nods. He knows enough, _really._

"Okay, uhm... I have to start by saying that... this arrangement is not the perfect starting point, since we are very late, so to speak, to talk about all this, but... I'm positive we can arrange ourselves somehow," Nate nods calmly, studying the teenager for reaction.

"Yeah, well... short time ago we never would've met anyways, right?" Marty asks.

"Right," Nate agrees.

"I don't have to do drawings, though, do I?" Marty question.

"Unless you want to," Nate smirks.

"I suck at this. Whenever I draw something, it ends up looking a duck," Marty shrugs.

"Well, as I said, we don't do anything you don't like. We only take those steps you are fine with," Nate assures.

"I'm in charge?" Marty asks, his eyes narrowing just lightly.

"Yes, you are," Nate nods.

"Good... I guess...," Marty makes a face.

"Well, okay, so... uhm, I don't know you all too well, and I'd like to change that, so... why don't you tell me something about you that you feel comfortable with?" Nate suggests.

"I'm almost sixteen years old, I lived in the streets for couple of years... uh... what happened on the case... you can probably... take from my report," Marty grimaces, forcing a smirk, but it vanishes before it ever comes out.

"Okay, thank you, that was good. Uhm, so... how do you like it here so far? At the NCIS, with Callen?" Nate changes the topic.

"I like it, a lot," Marty replies.

"Yeah? He's not bugging you yet?" Nate winks at the teenager.

"Not really," Marty replies sheepishly.

"So... uhm, Callen?" the psychologist turns to the older brother, "How is it for you?"

"Awesome," he grins.

"Did you have trouble adjusting to that new situation?" Nate asks.

"Well, I am still adjusting, we are, but... it's a nice change," Callen shrugs.

"Did you witness insecurities?" Nate questions.

"I suppose," Callen grimaces, "But I mean... I guess it's normal, right?"

"Certainly," Nate assures.

"Well, I still have to grow into the role as a... brother, guardian, whatever," Callen adds.

"Fears?" Nate cocks an eyebrow at the agent.

"As for me? Uhm... well, I am... a bit nervous, since? But mostly when I don't know where he is," Callen smiles at his younger brother, who returns softly.

"Okay, uhm, I will ask you something now that may seem odd, but I ask you to answer truthfully: Did you see Marty having a flashback or a nightmare since he came to stay with you?" Nate asks directly.

"What?" Callen frowns. Why is he asking him such a thing? Shouldn't he ask Marty if he had one for starters?

"Just answer the question," Nate says calmly.

"I just saw him... ugh... I don't know, being... jumpy?" Callen grimaces. Nate glances at Marty for a few seconds before he glances at Callen again, "Okay, thank you... uhm, so Marty... you feel the same?"

"About what?" Marty asks.

"That you are being jumpy?" Nate questions.

"I guess. I don't know. Uhm, sometimes I just find it difficult to talk about it, you know?" Marty says.

"I picture," Nate nods.

"I suppose I just rather avoid things...," Marty tilts his head.

"Well, that is something we'll definitely work on, if you want," Nate assures.

"Cool," Marty mumbles.

"Marty, do you know what PTSD is?" Nate asks calmly.

"What?" Marty blinks at him, "Heard of it... guess I could have it?"

"We will see about that," Nate nods at him. Callen's frown only deepens. Just _what the hell_ is going on here?

"Alright... sure," Marty shrugs.

"Okay, uhm... that's it from my side," Nate suddenly declares. Callen stares daggers at the other man. Seriously? They talked for like... five minutes, and that about random stuff, and now he calls it a day? That is _not_ exactly how Callen remembers _his_ sessions with Nate.

"Now I got a first impression, so I think we should call it a day. We don't want to rush things. This is a new situation we all have to get used to first, so... we shouldn't build up too much pressure right from the start. So I'll see you two again next morning, if that's fine?" Nate carries on.

"Sure," Marty nods.

"Then you can already leave, Marty. I'll just have a quick word with Callen, okay?" Nate smiles at the teenager, who replies, "Yeah, sure... thanks. See you, Doc."

He gets up from the couch and makes his way outside.

"Don't go too far, okay?" Callen shouts as Marty leaves. The teenager waves at him – that means yes.

"So? Whatcha think?" Callen asks, once the door closes, "I thought it was pretty good. He talked ... _openly..._ for his standards?"

"Uhm, my opinion is that you have a... smart brother," Nate begins, to which Callen smiles, but then the psychologist continues, "But he's just told me shit."

"What?" Callen blinks at him.

"Okay, I tell you this now because I have to ask you: did Marty see psychologists yet or... did you talk to him about PTSD?" Nate asks.

"No and no. Why should I tell him? Cole has mentioned it to me, but I didn't say a thing to Marty. I don't just diagnose a teenager with some mental condition. I'm actually sane enough not to," Callen shakes his head. Now what the hell is going on here?

"Yeah, then he... did tell me shit," Nate chuckles.

"Now explain that to me," Callen sighs.

"Anything he's said, it was not real," Nate shakes his head.

"But... Marty does have those kinda problems, with avoiding things and...," Callen grimaces.

"No doubt, but he didn't _mean_ it," Nate argues.

"How is that?" Callen blinks at him.

"He challenged me," Nate smirks.

"Challenged you, _how?"_ Callen frowns.

"He's read up on the topic and he's read up on some articles I have written about PTSD in soldiers and veterans. He just gave me what he thought I wanted to hear," Nate explains.

"Huh?" Callen glances at him.

"You find those articles on the internet with ease. You see, it's a technique to do what he just pointed out: he avoids situations that involve opening up. That is true, but he didn't tell me that in this way. He lied. And he is good," Nate smirks.

"The little bugger. Yesterday he's said he wanted to play Minecraft online. I bet he looked it up, then," Callen grumbles. He should have caught this.

"Callen, we shouldn't make it a big deal. Even if this... _variety..._ is new to me, the symptom remains common. Marty doesn't want to talk about personal problems, feelings, memories because they mean harm to him in some way. He just found a very unique way of avoiding that," Nate explains.

"So what? Do I ban him from... psychological papers and websites?" Callen asks - and really, he never thought he would have to ask that kind of question.

"No, you will not react to this in any way. You will just keep going the way you used to. I will clarify that myself. He fights me because I'm the intruder here. I have to stand my ground. Therefore, Marty will have single sessions also. I think that if we talk alone, he might be more cooperative," Nate suggests.

"Sure, whatever you think is best, Nate," Callen shrugs.

"And, by the way, I'll have single sessions with you also," Nate smirks.

"What? No way!" Callen exclaims.

"Hetty's already arranged for it, man," Nate shakes his head.

"But... this is about Marty," Callen argues.

"It's about you also, you have to see that. Callen, you are suddenly confronted with having a family, something you didn't have for almost all your life. Even though it's great, it's a huge change, and that is something we have to discuss, thoroughly," Nate explains in a calm voice.

"And here I thought I could get around it somehow," Callen rolls his eyes.

"Then you thought wrong," Nate winks at him.

"... but now seriously, with Marty... what do you think?" Callen sighs.

"Callen, it will take time until I have a diagnose. As far as I can judge, Marty's suffering from multiple traumas, ongoing abuse and God knows what else. It will need a lot of work and a lot of time to unravel this, and then, once we are there, we can think about ways of therapy," Nate explains.

"Yeah, I know...," Callen sighs. Even if he would rather just skip to the part where everything is fine again, because that would mean that Marty's fine again.

"But other than that... he's a lot like you," Nate smiles at him.

"Thanks," Callen smirks back. He really takes that as a compliment. Anything that brings him closer to Marty in any way is a good thing, even if it's just the way they hold a mug the same way. It's something that connects them. And more than anything Callen wants to be close to his kid brother, close to his _family._

"Okay, so you remember, don't address the issue. I clarify that," Nate repeats. Callen nods.

"Alright, that's it from my side, so now... get to work and catch some bad guys, I'll see you in the morning," Nate winks. Callen claps him on the shoulder, "See you."

With that he leaves also. Nate sits down on the couch with a grimace.

The challenge is on.

* * *

"Okay, buddy, so Nate said that he wants to talk to you alone today," Callen informs his younger brother as they drive to work.

"Alright," Marty shrugs. The older man grimaces. Ever since Nate showed up, Marty withdrew somehow. He has his bright moments, still, but only once his mind is off o the therapy-topic. Well, Nate told him that this is something they have to expect, but that doesn't mean G has to like it. He rather has Marty happy than... like this. But if it makes Marty happy in the long-run, then he'll put up with it.

They make their way to the NCIS, where Marty is already awaited by Nate.

"Yo Doc," Marty greets him.

"Hey, ready to go?" Nate waves at him.

"Sure, when you are," Marty shrugs. With that the two head out.

"Is something wrong between those two?" Kensi asks with a grimace.

"That would lead too far... let's just say that Marty's still not fond of the idea of... therapy whatsoever," Callen shrugs.

"Well, I guess we should get going with our new case, then, maybe we spare ourselves the whistle if we...," Sam says, but that is when Eric's already comes up with a bugle.

"God...," Kensi grunts as the three trot upstairs. Once there, Sam takes the bugle from Eric wordlessly before proceeding to the OPS.

Meanwhile, Nate and Marty settled in a private room.

"Do I have to lie down on the sofa now?" Marty jokes half-heartedly.

"As already mentioned, only if you feel like it," Nate winks at him.

"Nah, then maybe not," Marty says, flopping down on the stool.

"Okay, so... how was your day?" Nate begins.

"I got up, took a leak, brushed my teeth, showered, got dressed, we had breakfast, we drove here, got inside, and then you greeted me, I guess you know the rest," Marty snorts. He would rather spend time with G and the guys now. That's so much better than this here. _Anything_ is better than this here.

"Well, a nice routine you have right there," Nate shrugs with a sweet smile.

"I suppose," Marty shrugs back.

"Do you want to be here?" Nate asks.

"Well, I could imagine more fun-things, but... I see the necessity," Marty mutters.

"Do you really?" Nate questions.

"Yeah, sure. I guess I have to start talking feelings and all, don't I?" Marty sighs.

"That would be favorable," Nate nods. Marty gesticulates with his hands a "just what I said".

"Do you want to be somewhere else? Outside? We don't have to be here," Nate offers, but Marty just shakes his head, "I'm fine with it. We have privacy here after all."

There is a moment of silence. Nate contemplates on what approach to take now. But then he makes up his mind, "Okay, Marty... I want to be honest to you."

"Sure, all up for that," Marty shrugs.

"I don't buy any of it, alright?" Nate declares. Marty makes a face, "I don't know what you are talking about."

"We both know what I'm talking about. First of all, it's obvious that you don't want me here," Nate says. Marty blinks at him... well, _busted._

"Is not like I don't like you, Doc," Marty argues. Yeah, okay, the teenager knew that he was taunting Nate with what he did, but Marty didn't do that to make the psychologist feel bad. He thought the guy would just give up and leave him be. Just like all those other social workers and chaplains. Stupid, Marty, _stupid!_

"That I didn't say, I just say that you don't want me to be here, and that is quite natural," Nate explains.

"Is it really?" Marty frowns.

"Yes, in fact," Nate smirks. Well, Marty seemingly didn't read _all_ literature yet. That's a plus.

"Why?" Marty asks in a hushed voice.

"Because I interfere with that bit of peace you have," Nate explains in a calm voice.

"It wasn't exactly peaceful these days," Marty grimaces. He reconnected with his older brother whom he didn't know about through a murder case in which he was the main suspect, they blew up the prostitution ring he was in, and somewhere CPS started to mess with them. That's _not_ exactly peace, is it?

"For your standards it was. And then I show up and make things weird again, that sucks," Nate smirks.

"I...," Marty grimaces, "I guess..."

"And believe me, I know when someone's trying to mess with me," Nate chuckles softly.

"I wasn't," Marty stammers. _God,_ he is so ridiculous at times.

"You were. You challenged me in the first session. You pretended – and you referenced my articles. You wanted to throw me off track," Nate explains. Marty bites his lower lip, suddenly getting up. He knew this would come. _Of course_ he knew. Nate is smart, he studied that stuff, after all, but still... the teenager doesn't want to talk about this. Marty doesn't want anyone to say anything about it. He just wants to get over with it, live on, whatever. And the thought in the back of his head was only to somehow make sure he doesn't have to talk about it. But now Marty just feels guilty for ever considering that. Nate's seemingly a friend to the team... and he messed with him? _Not nice_. He nervously fidgets with the hem of his hoodie. Marty already wants to apologize when Nate speaks up, "I don't blame you for this."

Marty turns around, staring at him. He isn't? Is that guy serious?!

"As I said before, we're here under very unfortunate circumstances. I wasn't there in the first time of you coming to stay here, and I definitely wasn't there when all this actually happened. Everything's already over and you were bound to deal with it, and now comes a stranger and tells you what to do or think or feel. That's shit," Nate shakes his head. Marty says nothing at that.

"So yeah, I get it that you take measurements so that you don't have to talk about these things," Nate carries on, "And that is what you did yesterday. You don't want to talk, so you took measurements into your own hands. You came up with a strategy."

Marty bites his lower lip. He didn't think he was that obvious, but well... studied psychologist, possibly with multiple PhD's, just who did Marty think is he kidding, huh?

"May I make a guess?" Nate asks calmly.

"Is a free country, I suppose," Marty shrugs.

"I think the real reason why you don't want to talk about such things is because you don't want it to interfere with what you have now, with Callen and the others," Nate says.

"Huh?" Marty blinks at him.

"Well, you said it yourself and I believe you that you are glad to be here, with the guys. That this is something you enjoy," Nate explains.

"Of course," Marty replies quickly.

"Well, naturally, things you love or like are things that you harbor. You pay special attention to them. You want them to be good," Nate carries on.

"Yeah," Marty nods.

"Well, all that is in danger when such news loom over you, right? You are afraid that people might learn things about you that make them change their relationship to you. You want things to stay as they are, and that doesn't work with me here, that doesn't work with talking about it," Nate concludes further. He knows he is making a gamble with this, but he has good hope that the teenager will bite. There is a longer pause.

… You're really one to analyze a situation, bound to say," Marty finally admits with a sigh.

"Might be," Nate shrugs, offering a gentle smirk, "Marty, I can't force you to do anything, say anything you are not up to. I meant that and I still mean it. And if you don't want to work with me, that is more than your good right. No one would hold it against you."

"I just don't want to talk about it," Marty admits, "To anyone. Another psychologist wouldn't change that."

"Do you have nightmares?" Nate asks. Marty says nothing.

"Flashbacks?" the older man carries on. Marty bows his head.

"Difficulty sleeping, concentrating?" the psychologist questions in a calm, but strong voice.

"Avoiding certain situations, places, smells, sensations?" Nate asks.

"If you feel any of it, then I assure you, eating it up won't solve the problem. It will make matters for worse," Nate says in a soft voice, his eyes still on Marty.

"And the trauma gets the better of me. I stop living, yadda," Marty shakes his head. He knows those speeches.

"Yeah," Nate nods.

"And talking about it makes it all go away, you think?" Marty huffs.

"No, it won't ever go away," Nate admits. Marty bows his head.

"Because we can't remove the trauma. But we can find ways to deal with what it does to you in the here and now. We can make up strategies, find ways for you to manage your life, so that you can have your peace. And if you want me to, I will help you along that way," Nate offers. Marty bites his lower lip.

"You can believe me this one thing, Marty. I care for Callen and Kensi, Sam, Eric, Nell, Hetty, all of them. They are family to me also. I want them to be good. If you are afraid that our involvement will do them harm, then you can rest assured that I won't let that happen. You can talk to me without having to tell the others, until you're comfortable talking about it. I made an oath not to pass down stories you don't want to share. Everything you say, do... it stays in here. And once you leave, it stays in here also," Nate explains in a soothing voice. Marty still says nothing, just takes in the information.

"I know that you have taken a huge risk with this," Nate licks his lips.

"With what?" Marty brings out.

"Making the decision to stay here," Nate explains.

"What? Why?" Marty asks again.

"I can't say I know you all too well, but what I can tell from the way you act is that you have a good sense of risks you take. Even if you don't say it, you don't enter a situation unprepared, very much like your brother, by the way. And you are independent, or else you wouldn't have survived that long in the streets. If you count those two things together, it's obvious that you took a huge risk with walking into a situation you didn't know about, this situation now. You don't know G or the others all too well, you're acting on a hunch. Still, you trust them, or you try to," Nate says. _Damn_, that guy is better than Marty thought.

"You want this to work, right?" Nate questions.

"Yeah," Marty nods. Hell, he wants it to work.

"And that is why you take that risk," Nate nods.

"So what?" the teenager asks.

"I know it's asked a lot, but... if you can muster a bit more courage, risk a bit more and have a bit of faith in me that I won't do you any harm or try to destroy things for you... then I can guarantee you that I will do anything to help you to feel better again, so that you can keep this new life and live it," Nate declares. Marty stares at him.

"It won't be easy and it won't happen overnight. And yes, it will involve talking to the guys, or at least to Callen," Nate sighs. Marty's eyes droop again. He knew this would come.

"But... to that I wanna say that this doesn't have to be something bad, Marty," the psychologist adds. The teenager glances at him again. Seriously?

"If you have faith in them that they don't mess with you, that you can trust them, then you can trust them not to turn you down for it, you get me?" Nate says in a soft voice.

"Yeah...," Marty sighs. It's just that he could never trust someone that blindly to tell the truth, the whole truth. And more than anything, Marty finds it scary to just imagine people knowing... everything.

"And... if or once you make the step, tell them, share, you will most likely realize that this will only make your relationship stronger," Nate adds.

"Stronger, how? That stuff... what happened... no one wants to know about that shit. _I_ don't even want to know about that shit because it's too true to be true," Marty shakes his head .

"We would all rather wish it away. I want to wish it away, but we can't," Nate agrees sadly.

"Right...," Marty sighs. That is something he knew all along. Even if they freed those fifteen children, and God knows that he is thankful for it, there is still dozens, hundreds out there who don't get help, from anyone. They cower in the corners and plead for help that never comes. If they put down two buyers, two dealers... five new ones pop up, at least. It just never ends. That is the sad truth. And really, who wants to think about that? Who wants to imagine crying children behind bars, in filthy dark basements where it smells of urine and feces and horror, where small fingers grasp through the bars, eyes shining dully into blackness? Right, no one.

"But it's not just talking about the fact that it happens in the world. We're talking about _you,_ Marty, if it comes to it. The guys will care about you, and you alone," Nate explains.

"It would hurt them," Marty brings out.

"Possibly, but only coz it's you. You see, even a good relationship isn't great all the time. You have to allow bad times also for the good ones to count. You know the very best that life is far from perfect," Nate argues.

"I'd like it to be, though," Marty coughs lightly.

"Yeah, I know," Nate nods.

"This sucks," Marty sighs, sinking down on the chair again.

"Yeah," Nate exhales, "So... what's it gonna be?"

Marty leans his head back, glancing at the ceiling for a while. Nate patiently waits for the teenager to mull this over. It's more than a lot on him, that's obvious and everything the psychologist expected. After a long while, Marty's eyes fall back on Nate. He sucks in a deep breath before he holds out his hand to Nate. The psychologist frowns, but then takes it. Marty shakes his hand, "Hi, I'm Marty Deeks. I have a whole bunch of problems. And I don't even know where to start."

"I'm Nate Getz. I think we can deal with that," Nate joins. Marty nods, then lets go and sits back.

"I'm a lousy patient," Marty admits with a smirk.

"I think we can deal with that also," Nate smiles, leaning back also. Both just continue to sit in silence.

Their actual first meeting.


	13. Yoga Lessons & Shooting Trouble Dead

Author's Note: Okay, guys, here another chapter. First of all, thanks again for the awesome reviews, you are the most awesome readers ever, and so nice. As for this chapter, I have to warn you that this might be... real silliness. This was written somewhat around 3 a.m. and I just wanted some fluff and a good time for the guys. We can't always have drama, right? I know I'm not really funny, but... I hope you will still find it funny in some way... if not, I deeply apologize. *mini-spoiler* - for those who ask themselves later on why Callen and Marty do what they do... I know it's not therapeutic in any way, but... Callen's an agent, so I take it that he might do that. If you don't share my opinion, regard it as ooc or my silliness, again, 3 a.m. ;)  
Still hope you'll enjoy this chapter.  
Read and review as you please ;)

* * *

A couple of days later, Callen and the rest are at the office. Once again it looks like it's a paper-catch-up-day. For some reason the terrorists don't seem to show up when a case would actually be nice for a change. As they are filling out the reports, Marty and Nate come back from their latest single session. Callen is glad that Marty starts to accept Nate and seemingly talks to him. At least he is more cheerful now – and to Callen, that is what counts most.

"Hey, guys," the two greet them.

"Hey, how did it go?" Callen smirks as Marty settles down next to him.

"Was okay, we discussed Freudian dream interpretation," Marty shrugs with a smirk.

"Seriously?" Callen turns to Nate with a grimace, who shrugs at him.

"We agreed that we disagree on that topic," Nate winks.

"You guys are confusing me," Callen shakes his head.

"Tell me about it," Marty snorts. Nate told him that they are supposed to get accustomed first, and somehow they ended up discussing the weirdest topics... _ever._ All the way from cartoons to Freud to the discussion why apples are better than pineapples. Marty has a vague idea where they are heading with this, but he actually starts to enjoy the sessions with Nate, to see where they head this time. At least he is feeling less anxiety. That much is for sure. If that is the point, which the teenager strongly suspects, then the guy is doing his job outright so far.

"Well, actually, we have a suggestion to make," Nate says.

"Okay, what is it?" Callen grimaces.

"Marty?" Nate turns to the teenager. Nate wants the teenager to verbalize such things. Even if it's little stuff he reveals about what they do in the single sessions, it will hopefully help Marty build up enough confidence to eventually tackle the real problems they are heading for – and be open about it.

"Ugh, we are in the BETA version of treatment," Marty declares.

"You are experimenting," Callen translates.

"Yep, and Nate's said I should do some... anxiety management," Marty grimaces. He is not all too fond of the idea, but he wasn't all too fond of Nate either... and the guy is not halfway as bad as he had pictured.

"Aha, okay, sure. If you want, then we do that," Callen shrugs.

"Well, we don't know how yet. Which is why I want Marty to try things to see what he likes best, or what he feels is actually helping him," Nate explains.

"Alright, what is the first plan, then?" Callen asks.

"I would suggest that he tries out relaxation training, meditation, for instance," Nate nods. Marty glances at Callen with a lopsided smirk.

"I can help with that," Sam offers.

"Seriously?" Marty blinks at the older man. He didn't take him for the type.

"Yeah. I do that often. If you want, we can have a session," Sam suggests.

"I'm getting more sessions than I bargained for, as it seems," Marty grimaces. Really, single sessions, group sessions, now meditation sessions? This doesn't sound like fun.

"No, the both of you," Nate argues, glancing at Callen.

"What now? With us two you mean _us two_?" G makes a face.

"Yes, you said yourself you are nervous, so that might be just what you need also," Nate suggests. Callen rolls his eyes. He _never_ should have said that out loud.

"Hey, if you guys get out of the paper-madness, then I wanna spend my time with that also. I won't do that all by myself," Kensi mutters.

"Hey, the more the better. We make it a meditation-party," Sam jokes.

"Who thinks this sounded totally lame?" Callen asks loudly. Kensi, Marty, and Callen himself instantly raise their hands.

"I'm trying to help and you mock me, that is not nice," Sam shakes his head.

"Oh please, you totally enjoy this, Sam," Callen returns.

"Guys, if you want to do it, do it, if not, Sam and Marty will go alone," Nate jumps in.

"I'm in for it for as long as you explain our absence to Hetty," Kensi bargains.

"Will do," Nate nods.

"Awesome!" Kensi claps her hands together, getting up from her chair. The others follow suit. The four make their way over to the gym. Sam gets them Yoga mats and makes them sit down in a semicircle. Marty sits to the left, Callen in the middle, and Kensi to the right. Sam takes the spot in front of them.

"Okay, take your shoes off and sit down on the mats," Sam orders.

"I don't think I like this. I like my boots," Marty grumbles teasingly.

"And no one's trying to take them from you, just leave them," Sam assures with a roll of his eyes. It's one thing to explain meditation techniques to newbies, but it's a whole different story to explain it to three resistant newbies who will do anything to make it hell for him. Sam never should have agreed to this.

"I still don't think I like this," Marty shakes his head.

"Okay, so... what we are about to do is called the Third Eye Meditation," Sam explains, clapping his hands together.

"Does that mean we have to draw eyes on our heads or what?" Marty frowns at him.

"No, it's just a technique. So now, before we start, I want you to stretch a bit," Sam explains. The three start to stretch, Sam does the same.

"This degenerates into work," Callen huffs. Sam just glares at him.

"Okay, now that we have stretched, I want you all to take a relaxing position," Sam carries on in a softer voice.

"How do you relax on a mat like that? Those are uncomfortable by definition," Kensi argues.

"Get as comfortable _as you can_... okay, now I want you to close your eyes...,"

"_Just close your eyes and you'll be here with me/ Just look to your heart/ And that's where I'll be/ If you just close your eyes till you're drifting away_...," Kensi starts to hum perfectly out of tune.

"_Westlife_, seriously?" Callen grimaces, eyes closed. Marty bites his lower lip not to crack up laughing.

"I just heard it on the radio this morning," Kensi argues with mock-vehemence.

"Guys! _Guys,_ focus. So now again, close your eyes, don't sing, relax," Sam tries again, and really, he mostly tries to keep up the calming voice. The other three snicker.

"Gladly I took a leak before. If I relax any more, my bladder will be completely relaxed, too," Callen snorts.

"I want you to focus on your breathing now," Sam carries on.

"Shoot, I forgot to breathe! No one's told me that I have to breathe!" Kensi gasps.

"Easy breaths. In and out. You are calm and focused," Sam intervenes in a stern voice. He walks behind them.

"Duck, duck, duck, duck...," Marty mutters as Sam walks past him. Callen snickers at that, but Sam purposely ignores it.

"Now I want you to focus on the area between your eyebrows," Sam goes on.

"How do you call that anyways? I mean, it's not your forehead, but not your eyebrows either, or your nose...," Kensi asks mindfully, but Sam interrupts her, "Focus on that spot."

"Why?" Callen questions, faking curiosity.

"Because I told you so... okay, so now you focus on that spot. After a while, you'll see a point of light in front of you," Sam says, but Kensi jumps in once again, "Does it have to have a certain color? I like green, but this one is... grey. I don't like grey."

"I have a green one," Callen offers.

"Then trade or do whatever. Just focus on that light," Sam grumbles.

"_Run to the light, Carol Anne. Run as fast as you can! Mommy is in the light! Mommy is waiting for you in the light_!" Marty cries out dramatically.

"Oh my God!" Kensi laughs out loud at the "Poltergeist" reference.

"No one's going into the light, yet anyways... I just want you to focus on that light you see between your eyes. Let it come to you," Sam goes on. You can say about him what you want, but if Sam set his mind on something, he pulls it off till the bitter end.

"Come here, boy," Callen whistles.

"Be available to be filled," Sam says.

"Hm, kinky, Sam," Kensi snickers.

"Not in front of the children," Callen retorts dramatically.

"Oh, sorry, Marty, forget about it," Kensi adds quickly.

"Fill yourself with light," Sam continues.

"Oh, now I get it! Sorry," Kensi excuses herself.

"Do you get flashing stomachs from that?" Marty gasps, peeking one eye open.

"Keep your eyes closed!" Sam mutters.

"Just a question," Marty grumbles, closing his eyes again. The other two snicker.

"Continue with the meditation. Focus. The more you allow yourself to peel away at the illusions surrounding you, reality will show itself to you," Sam sighs.

"I like my illusions," Kensi argues.

"You will understand that you are part of everything, every organism, every being," Sam carries on.

"I don't want to be part of everything," Marty exclaims.

"Right, I don't want to be part of some douche-bag," Callen agrees.

"Or porridge," Marty adds.

"Right," Kensi nods.

"All disturbing thoughts will dissolve in the transcendent light of truth," Sam speaks.

"Is that the part where you mumble _'Om'?"_ Kensi whispers, loudly, to Callen.

"I think that comes later," he assures her.

"Oh," Kensi bobs her head.

"Are we holding hands now?" Callen asks.

"_Kum bay ya, my Lord, kum bay ya_...," Kensi hums.

"Goodness sake," Sam grumbles.

"My light just flew away, Sam, how do I get it back?" Kensi whines.

"Come here boy, _again_!" Callen joins her.

"Okay, I'm giving up!" Sam throws his hands up in surrender.

"What? No! This is _so_ wonderful!" Callen mocks him.

"And we didn't even breathe bad energy in... no wait, _out,"_ Marty argues.

"Do we 'om' now?" Kensi asks.

"Guys!" Sam cries out.

"Hey, don't sweat it," Callen mockingly reassures him.

"Hey, I'm doing this for you and your brother and you mess with me. How do I not sweat this?" Sam yells.

"Sam? Deep breaths, remember? Focus on that green light between your eyes...," Callen snickers. Sam nudges his knee against Callen's back, who, like a scalded cat, grabs Sam's leg and flips him to the ground, yelling: "Goose!"

Marty and Kensi long since gave up and are rolling over the ground, laughing, while Sam and Callen have a mock-wrestling match, well, more or less. Sam is actually trying to get back at Callen.

"Guys! What the hell?!" Nate's voice rings. The four glance up to see him standing in the doorway.

"Uh, she's started?" Callen points at Kensi, still in Sam's headlock.

"Hey!" Kensi exclaims.

"Guys, you were supposed to take that seriously... and not start a fight. Seriously, just what did you do? This was supposed to be an exercise to relax," Nate shakes his head. Really, if you leave the kids alone for ten minutes...

"They are all straight-up crazy," Sam mutters.

"Marty?" Nate turns to the teenager, who is now simply lying on his back.

"I'm sorry, we tried, but... I don't think meditation is working for us. I call this... _epic fail_," Marty shakes his head.

"Did you even try?" Nate argues.

"I saw the light," Marty nods his head frantically, causing Kensi to crack up laughing all over again.

"What?" Nate knits his eyebrows at him.

"Nevermind. We just have to find something else. I won't calm down doing this... ever again," Marty shakes his head. Nope, if he ever makes a try to meditate again... he'll surely remember that and just crack up laughing. It might be that this is not exactly good for what Nate had in mind, but Marty finds this just great. He can't remember the last time he's had such a good laugh.

"Okay, well, gladly, there's still much in store," Nate sighs. Seeing the boy smile like this makes him confident that there was at least some therapeutic sense in this. Laughing is good after all.

"Awesome," Marty snorts sarcastically.

"But next time I'll let you do it alone... they seemingly can't be serious," Nate shakes his head.

"... you might have a point," Marty smirks.

* * *

"... God, Sam, now get over it. We just had some fun," Callen rolls his eyes, now all of them back in the office.

"At _my_ expenses," Sam grumbles defensively.

"At the expenses of the task. You were just the... mediator," Callen argues.

_"Meditator,"_ Kensi supplies with a smirk.

"Right," Callen nods.

"And we're sorry," Kensi apologizes, again with a grin on her lips.

"Right," Callen nods vehemently.

"I know you're not," Sam shakes his head.

"Not really, but we thought it makes you feel better, big guy," Callen shrugs.

"Well, the only victim is Marty. After all... we were supposed to find him some relaxing task," Kensi grins with a sigh.

"I found it pretty amazing," Marty chuckles.

"That's the spirit," Kensi winks at him.

"Question remains, what do we do with you and your anxiety management?" Callen asks, now more seriously. Even if this was great to give Marty a good time, it did nothing to help him deal with his anxiety.

"Wish it away?" Marty provides with a shrug.

"Yeah, coz that's proven to work," Sam shakes his head.

"Maybe you should ask Nate again," Kensi suggests.

"I think he's kinda mad at us, still," Marty shakes his head.

"Okay, I have an idea," Callen declares.

"Oh, big brother to the rescue," Kensi snickers.

"Right, so now... Marty, c'mon," Callen motions for his brother to get up along with him.

"Where are we going?" Sam glances at him.

"You'll see," Callen shrugs. The two start to walk off.

"Don't go into the light, Marty," Kensi yells after him.

"I'll remember that," Marty calls over his shoulder. With that the two walk off.

"So, Sam... when exactly do you say 'om'?" Kensi asks maliciously. Sam just rolls his eyes before he continues with his reports in all silence. Kensi snickers to herself before carrying on also. Meanwhile, Callen brought Marty to the shooting range.

"Wow," Marty gapes.

"C'mon, over here," G gesticulates. Marty steps closer.

"You really have everything here," Marty blinks. This place is really magical in its own way. It looks stylish, bad guys get caught here, and wherever you look, you discover something new.

"Yeah, I know. I work here in years now and still haven't been to all rooms. Anyway... maybe this can be your anxiety management," Callen suggests, pointing at the shooting range.

"I don't think that this is something out of the handbook," Marty scratches the back of the head.

"Handbooks are overrated," Callen shakes his head.

"True," Marty shrugs. Callen just wants to take the initiative, do something. He doesn't like the idea to just be bystander. He knows that it relieves stress for him, why not for Marty also?

"Okay, but before we even start... you may _never_ do that alone, and it's exclusively for the shooting range. You won't get a gun from me to carry around," Callen explains.

"Oh, darn, and here I thought you'd just gimme one so I can shoot someone when I feel jumpy or angry," Marty jokes.

"I mean that. Nate's gonna give me hell anyways, because this is probably against anything therapy would demand," Callen grimaces. Maybe a bad idea after all?

"This is not the first time I fired one, and like this it's... just hitting a target, right?" Marty provides. Callen bites his lower lip. Right, Marty said he already fired a gun, and then probably at someone. At least he seems to get it that there is a difference between some_one_ or some_thing_.

"Well, that's what I had in mind. For me, it's... _control._ You are alone, farily, and you get time to concentrate," Callen admits. At least that is what brought him to the idea.

"I can keep a secret. No one's gotta know," Marty smirks at him.

"So? You wanna give it a try?" Callen asks cautiously.

"Sure as hell," Marty beams at him.

"Okay, then let's get you equipped," Callen smirks as he grabs glasses and earmuffs. With that he guides Marty to one of the cubicles and takes out his gun.

"You let me fire yours?" Marty blinks at him disbelieving.

"Yes. Why not?" Callen chuckles softly.

"That one is just totally amazing," Marty replies, eyes glistering.

"Thanks, so now. You take a steady stance, legs apart, bend you knees a bit, relax," Callen guides him.

Marty nods as he carries on. "Now I want you to look at the target, but keep your eyes open. Focus on the target, don't hold your breath."

"That's a lot you have to keep in mind," Marty smirks, though you can see that he is heavily concentrating. Last time he remembers handling a gun... it's all a blur. He just reacted. He didn't even think when he did it, he just acted, but now... yeah, it _definitely_ feels different. It's as Callen says, it feels like _control._

"Okay, now you hold the weapon towards the target and release the safety," Callen says, guiding Marty's hand. He is a bit hesitant at first, because G fears that Marty will jerk back at the body contact, but he lets it happen. Callen smirks as he helps him get the gun ready.

"Alright, you grab it the right way, but put the other hand underneath for support, like this," Callen gently guides Marty's hand. The teenager nods.

"Okay, make sure your stance is still the same. Now I warn you, once you fire the gun, there will be recoil, so make sure you stand steadily," Callen advises him. Marty nods, readjusts his stance a bit and licks his lips in anticipation.

"Okay, when you feel ready, you pull the trigger. Don't worry, I'm right behind you," Callen says. Marty nods, aims, and fires. He gets slightly pedaled back, but Callen cushions it so that Marty keeps up on his feet.

"Well done!" he praises his younger brother.

"If I had actually hit the target...," Marty tilts his head. Callen presses the button for the paper to come closer.

"You hit him in the head," Callen argues.

"I was aiming at his leg," Marty admits.

"Why the leg?" Callen grins.

"The bastard shouldn't run away, right?" Marty smirks.

"Sure as hell. Wanna give it another try?" Callen suggests, to which Marty nods frantically. Callen lets the paper go back into position, then takes his stance behind Marty again, who is already readjusting his stance and aim.

"Okay, so if you aim for the leg, you have to keep in mind that it's a smaller part of the body and the recoil makes it go higher," Callen explains in a soft voice.

"So I wanna aim lower?" Marty concludes.

"Right, do it again," Callen smiles.

Marty fires.

"Again," G orders softly.

The teenager fires another time.

"Again," the older brother repeats, and Marty follows the order.

"Okay, good, now put the safety back on," Callen advises while he presses the button for the paper to come back.

"Now look at that. That guy won't walk on that leg for a while," Callen grins, "Little while from now you'll be as good as Kensi. She can even shoot in the crotch."

"Why would you practice to shoot someone in the crotch?" Marty shakes his head.

"She is having a _very_ dark darkside at times," Callen shrugs. Marty makes a mental note to never-ever make Kensi mad at him.

"That was amazing," Marty smiles. It's just as his older brother said. For a moment... everything just disappeared. He could focus on that one thing, hitting the target. Then it didn't even bother him that he had to think of the times he did handle a gun. Everything just... vanished. And darn, it felt great.

"Good," Callen smirks at him, "Wanna do it again?"

"Sure as hell," Marty smirks. Callen sets up a new target before taking his stance behind the younger brother again. The teenager suddenly leans his head back so that he glances up to Callen, his head making contact with G's chest, if only just slightly.

"G?" he asks softly.

"Yeah?" Callen grins at him.

"Thanks," Marty smiles at him softly, before he bobs his head forward again and sends the next bullet flying. Callen smiles to himself.

"Okay, you wanna learn how to shoot your initials?" Callen asks.

"Like Zorro?" Marty asks.

"Just like Zorro," Callen nods.

"Bring it on," Marty smiles. Callen grasps his hand again to show him how. Behind the door, Hetty and Nate pass by to see the two. They exchange a glance, but then walk on.

Let them deal with their anxiety their way... even if that means shooting it dead.


	14. The Mystery Of The Bottled Drinks

Author's Note: Once again, thank you all so much for the nice and encouraging reviews. In response to one guest reviewer - thank you for pointing out the vocab mistake in chapter four, that is fixed now. Didn't realize it, so thank you.  
Either way, here is the next chapter. After a bunch of silliness, this has more serious moments (and some dark ones, so that you are warned).  
Read and review as you like. I'm looking forward to it.  
Hope you'll enjoy ;)

* * *

A couple of days later, Nate assigned the next group session for Marty and Callen. G realized this morning that the teenager was a bit tensed. He talked less than usual and wouldn't hold up eye contact since the night before. That is why Callen hopes the group session will solve that, or at least path the way for it. That is something he already had to learn and accept: therapy doesn't solve problems at once, it delivers step after step after step.

"Hey, you two, good to see you," Nate greets them.

"Hey," the two brothers reply in unison. They then sit down in their provided chairs.

"So? How are you today?" Nate begins.

"Good," Callen nods.

"Okay, Marty?" Nate asks in a calm voice.

"Is alright," Marty shrugs. No, he's not alright, who is he kidding? But he made a deal. Callen grimaces. Something is definitely up. And it doesn't take an agent to figure.

"Marty? What number are we at?" Nate questions.

"Straight up nine," Marty mutters, his hands nervously fidgeting around.

"What? Sorry, uhm... I don't get this?" Callen grimaces. What is the deal with those numbers?

"It's something Marty and I came up with to deal with his stress level. When he is feeling stressed out or scared, he gives you a number from one to ten. One means everything is fine, ten...," Nate explains.

"Not," Callen completes.

"Right," the psychologist approves.

Oh," Callen whistles. He didn't expect that, but... this system sounds good.

"It's supposed to help Marty and you communicate such things. He struggles verbalizing his feelings, but he can say how intense they are. At least that is what we hope will come out as a result," Nate explains.

"So... this here is bad just now, with a nine?" Callen grimaces. He definitely doesn't like it that Marty is in session now and feeling terrified.

"Kinda," Marty smirks weakly.

"Okay, you are confusing me now...," Callen frowns," Why is Marty nervous, then?"

"Marty and I discussed a few things in the single sessions that we agreed should be addressed now in this session," Nate goes on. Well, truth told, it took him all negotiation in the world to convince Marty that the older brother should know, and that this would help them both, but eventually he agreed, and that's what counts.

"Alright, sure...," Callen nods.

"Marty?" Nate turns to the teenager again.

"Yes?" Marty replies, his voice shaky.

"Are you ready for it?" Nate asks gingerly.

"... I guess," Marty sighs. He won't ever be ready for it, but well...

"Well, you can start once you're ready. Take your time. We don't have to rush things," Nate assures. Marty suddenly gets up and sits down on the ground. Callen wants to get up as well, but Nate gesticulates for him not to. Nate already discovered in the first sessions he had with him that Marty rather sits on the ground when he is feeling distressed. He refuses to explain why, but it calms him.

"Okay, Nate's said that I'm supposed to share things," Marty begins.

"Alright," Callen agrees in a soft voice.

"So... I will share a story with you now... against better judgment," Marty grunts. Really, why did he agree to this again? He can't remember all of a sudden.

"I'm listening," Callen assures.

"Okay... so... huh... hm... inside my head this all sounded better. Maybe I should've written it down... or wait, that would've been stupid, coz then I would've had it on paper... ugh... I lost track," Marty rambles, pulling on a strand of his hair. Really, inside his head he had prepared the "speech", but now it's just smoke and mirrors.

"Marty, you wanted to tell Callen about what we discussed yesterday. Just tell him what you told me, you'll be fine," Nate reminds him. Marty bites his lower lip. More than anything, Callen would like to... _hug._.. the kid to make him feel better again. He looks so vulnerable now. It's obvious that it is hurting the teenager, but still he does it.

"What number?" Nate jumps in.

"Eight and a half?" Marty grimaces. This still feels like hell, but... less like hell than the first time he said it. Darn, why does Nate have to be right about these things?

"Okay, it's getting less. Take a couple more deep breaths. Focus. We are alone here. You are fine," Nate assures, his voice calm and steady. Marty sucks in a couple more deep breaths, trying to regain focus. Really, now he would just love to jump out the window. His skin is crawling, the heck, his palms are itching. This just doesn't feel right. At all.

"Well, I guess is no point in arguing that I have... _issues._ They are too obvious. Uhm... I like to call them _kinks_, then it doesn't sound as much like a big deal... but then again... wait... uhm...," Marty bites his lower lip. A second ago, his mind was operating just fine. Why won't the words just come out? Really, he must have left his brain somewhere under the bed this morning.

"Marty, we talked about this, one thought at a time. I know it's hard, but try to focus. Take your time, even if it hurts, easy," Nate assures in a soothing voice.

"Uhm, okay... you asked why I don't drink stuff from other people," Marty says, closing his eyes.

"Yeah," Callen nods. How could he not remember that?

"Well, _big surprise_, there's a story behind this. And that story ain't...pretty, it's anything _but_ pretty. Okay... I don't like taking drinks from other people because... coz then I have to think back to the time I... I got roofied," Marty admits. Callen keeps his face a straight grimace, though the anger is bubbling deep inside of him.

"It was during the time in the ring. In the beginning. My... fifth customer. Some kinda merchant as far as I understood, not that I cared anyways... At first I thought... that he was not the worst type, at least compared to the ones I already had... He seemed kinda nice. He even talked to me, gave me food. _God_, was I foolish. He gave me some funny red juice and I even said thank you, like he was being overly nice to me or whatever. Took it, drank it, and I thought that maybe... this wouldn't be the worst," Marty huffs. Really, he was so stupid back then. Even all this time in the streets hadn't taught him that, seemingly. Don't accept things from strangers... well, it gets hard when you are so thirsty that you would down a whole gallon.

"But then... well, uhm... as for roofies, you don't recall much, so it's getting kinda hazy... for which I'm kinda glad. The last thing I remember was sitting down on the bed...," Marty sighs. Really, that is the one thing he considers a sick kind of blessing. To the day he can't remember the act itself, only the shame and humiliation that followed.

"Either way, I think the dose was... kinda too low, coz I came about faster than... estimated... I seemingly have just the most amazing, drug-consuming metabolism of all times, no medicine knocks me out long enough... coz when I came back around there was suddenly... the guy's best friend also, getting dressed again...," Marty bites his lower lip. Callen stares at him, "Why...?"

"Well, rationally, he did that to have more gain," Marty shrugs weakly.

"What?" Callen blinks at him. It's already against anything Callen believes is human, to do something like that to a child, but why on earth would this scum roofie the children?

"You saw it, the Boss had fixed prices for certain... _programs._ One should think that roofies would be... _uneconomic,_ but... now that I saw the other guy, I realized... he wanted to get more than he bargained for. And then a few roofies actually pay off," Marty shakes his head. Callen lets out a weary sigh, his chest burning painfully.

"Well, only _good_ aspect, kinda, was that... later on... that guy was thrown out," Marty snorts.

"Thrown out?" Callen grimaces.

"The Boss was strictly against drugs, for the children coz... well, of course there is the sadistic aspect so that the kids would feel it and all, but then... ugh... also economic reasons," Marty grimaces. He sucks in a deep breath before he continues, "They 'tried' that for a while, drugging the kids, but... it led to... serious health issues, and even death in couple of cases. And losing children to some pills is not _economic_, so... that was off the list. And it also made sense that the kids are... were... the witnesses. They could tell when the program was not what they had planned. Which meant either sanctions... uh, his term for real bad beat-up, or to get thrown out, possibly shot in the face," Marty explains, repeating it over inside his head, "_It's the past, it's the past, it's the past. It's over, over, over..._"

"So... ugh, lesson learned, for me... I never touch a drink I didn't pour myself. I don't like it. The thought alone makes me sick. Rationally, I know this is... anything _but_ rational, but... I can't switch it off. So... yeah... that's why I don't like it," Marty admits. Callen runs a shaky hand over his face, his mind not caught up to him yet. There is a moment of silence. Neither one dares to say anything, there is just heavy breathing and darkness claiming them.

"Thank you for sharing that, Marty," Nate says politely.

"Nothing to be thankful for, really," Marty snorts.

"Callen? Would you like to say something?" Nate asks.

"What?" Callen blinks, breaking out of his momentary trance.

"Do you have something to say about this?" Nate questions again.

"I... I don't know...," Callen shakes his head. He would like to say something, respond to Marty, but he just can't. He just can't get a sentence together, find words that would... do anything, help. They continue in silence for a while longer, until Marty, without a word, gets up from the ground to sit in his chair again.

"Marty? What number?" Nate asks quickly.

"Six," Marty exhales.

"Okay. So it's no longer that bad?" Nate pokes further.

"... I don't know," Marty sighs, feeling utterly exhausted.

"That's okay. It was a huge step you did right there," Nate assures him.

"Yeah? Doesn't feel like it to me," Marty snorts. He still fails to see the sense in this.

"It is. You went against a huge fear of yours by telling us, and by facing that memory. It must have been very hard for you," Nate explains. Marty's features suddenly harden, "Could we not praise me for that, please? I don't want to be praised for that."

"Okay, sure, if you don't feel comfortable with it," Nate reassures him.

"I don't know. Not now... possibly never. I don't like this. That is nothing people should be proud of, no matter how you look at it. It happened, that's bad enough. That's nothing to be proud of. Talking about it shouldn't be either," Marty shakes his head vehemently. If you say it, it becomes reality after all. They always said it. And now it's real all over again. Is that really something good?!

"As I said, we don't do anything you don't want, Marty," Nate replies.

"Yeah, then no praising me. That makes me feel embarrassed and when I feel embarrassed... it only gets worse," Marty shakes his head.

"Are we going up in numbers?" Nate asks.

"No," Marty grumbles. Even if he wonders why that is not so.

"Okay... Callen? Do you have anything to say now? Your thoughts, feelings, something?" Nate tries another time.

"Other than my wish to kill them all... nothing much," Callen grunts.

"You are angry," Nate says.

"Not even close," Callen grits his teeth. Marty winces. The agent whips his head around to the teenager, "But... but not at you, if you think that. Please, Marty. I'm mad at those bastards, okay?"

"Marty, do you think Callen is mad at you?" Nate asks.

"... no," Marty sighs. He knows he is not, it just feels like it, and it's stupid. Everything is so stupid.

"What are _you_ feeling, then?" Nate asks. Marty shrugs. Everything, nothing, blue, red, cold, warm, pick one, because the teenager has no clue.

"Okay, that was a lot. Why don't we call it a day, and guys go on and do something to get into a better mood again? We will continue with this in the next session for sure, but I think we reached a point where discussion won't bring us any further," Nate offers.

"Right," Callen nods.

"Marty, without the praise, thank you for doing that," Nate nods. Marty nods curtly back.

"May I leave? I gotta take a leak," Marty says in a monotonous voice.

"Yeah, sure, go ahead," Nate says. Marty makes his way out of the room wordlessly. Callen still sits in his chair, feeling the earth beneath him crumble. He knew that. He knew that Marty was violated this way. And it already made him sick to the stomach and back again, but this here... it feels much more real now, much closer.

"This shocked you," Nate speaks up.

"... to say the least," Callen shakes his head.

"It shocked me, too, when he first admitted it," Nate grimaces.

"I mean... I knew like...," Callen sighs, fidgeting for the words. But Nate jumps in, "There is a difference between knowing something and getting the details."

"Yeah...," Callen exhales shakily.

"Do you think you'll be okay with it?" Nate asks.

"What? Yes, that doesn't change things for me, I mean... of course that changes me in some way, but it doesn't change a thing about Marty and I, at least to me. I can't speak for Marty, obviously," Callen grimaces.

"Right," Nate nods.

"At some point I'm actually... _glad._.. I know why he does that. Before, I just couldn't make sense of it," Callen admits sheepishly.

"That is good. This is exactly what we want to achieve here. A better understanding. Once you understand his condition, you'll have it easier dealing with it – and Marty will have it easier because he doesn't have to hide things anymore," Nate explains.

"... do I have to do something now, I mean...," Callen grimaces. Is there something he can do or say?

"No, it is very important that you let it be at some point, Callen. We can't give therapy to him 24/7. Once you leave the room, life starts again. That is essential for Marty. In here, he has an environment he starts to feel more comfortable talking about it, but that has a lot to do with this being broken up after the session is over," Nate points out.

"So what? Just never address it again?" G grimaces.

"_Definitely_ not. But I already explained it to Marty that life has to go on, even when such bad things come to light, _especially_ then, actually. I _encourage_ you to talk about it, but in the beginning you should restrain it to either private talks between the two of you at home, or here in the sessions. He will most likely not respond to you if you address it in the group. It took Marty about everything to admit this to you, but he is far from telling the others. If he comes to you, then of course, talk about it, but don't push him into revealing more about him or this particular topic before he isn't ready. For now... let it be. Let it sink in. This was a lot on you, too. You have to process this, and you have to allow yourself to," Nate says.

"Yeah, right," Callen exhales. He would rather not, but he knows that it has to be, for Marty's sake already. They heave to deal with it, come to terms, process.

"So now... go back to work or take a walk, just make sure you get your head free again. Marty shouldn't let this control his life, you shouldn't do that either," Nate argues. .

"Yeah, right, I know... alright, thanks. I'll see you around," Callen nods numbly.

"Sure as hell," Nate winks at him. Callen gets up and leaves the room. Finding no one there, he rams his fist into the opposite wall, leaning his head against the cold surface. There are no words to describe this sensation. He sucks in a few deep breaths of much needed air, since his constricted lungs hardly give any space for oxygen. Once he found a bit of his calm back, Callen makes his way back to the bullpen, very surprised to actually find Marty sitting with Kensi and Sam. G already feared the teenager may have taken off or might be hiding in the bathroom.

"Oh, hey, you're back," Kensi greets him.

"Yeah," Callen smirks briefly before taking his seat again.

"You okay?" he mumbles to the teenager. Marty nods with a shrug.

"Good... need to go to the range?" Callen offers softly.

"No, I'm... okay," Marty admits... and it's true. After he splashed some water in his face, took a deep breath, and allowed himself to relax... he feels finer again.

"Alright, just say something, yeah?" Callen nods.

"Sure," Marty offers a weak smile.

"Gosh, darn it!" Sam suddenly cries out, making all jump in their seats.

"What's wrong?" Kensi frowns at the man.

"Costume parties!" Sam exclaims with exasperation.

"Okay, I think I lost you," Callen grimaces, allowing himself to be carried away by their odd sense of normalcy.

"I think I never had you on that one... what?" Kensi blinks.

"My daughters want to go to a costume tea party slash birthday party slash... something else," Sam shakes his head.

"Okay, I'm out of that conversation," Kensi snorts.

"What? You as a girl?" Sam grimaces.

"Sam, my dad always wanted a boy. I learned how to read tracks and survive in the desert, not how to braid hair, okay?" Kensi retorts.

"Anyway, I have to get those stupid costumes," Sam grumbles.

"Why can't Michelle do that?" Callen frowns.

"Let's just say I said something she wasn't pleased with and that's when you get the short end of the stick," Sam sighs.

"What did you say?" Kensi grimaces.

"I forgot that I'm not to complain about her casserole... because it's a family recipe...," Sam mutters.

"You never accuse family, Sam," Kensi shakes her head. That means war.

"Yeah, I know that now, too. Means I'm stuck with this. The girls were being cryptic about what they wanted and Michelle won't say a thing because she is mad at me. I don't know what to get for them. And I don't know where. I need that stuff tomorrow," Sam curses.

"Go with princesses. Princesses always work," Marty shrugs, not looking up.

"What?" Sam blinks.

"What?" Marty mirrors him, "You know princesses, right? Tiaras, frilly dresses."

Callen grimaces for a second. He didn't think Marty would snap out of it that fast really, after all, they are having normal conversation again, but he seems fine. And God, is Callen glad about that.

"I know what a princess is," Sam shakes his head, "But why princess outfits when this is a tea party whatsoever? Isn't that about... ugh... being a Lady?"

"May have been once, but thanks to TV and movie industry, a girl's world's painted pink, fairies fly around, and many just wanna be princesses with frilly skirts and tiaras. It's not about having an actual tea party, it's about making it the most glittery pink party, trust me," Marty manages to smirk.

"Again, how do you tell?" Sam grimaces.

"You're asking someone who's been quite close with little girls, apparently. No matter the circumstance, pink is pretty," Marty grins – and that catches G really off-guard. The boy actually grins again.

"I think you should listen to him," Kensi throws in.

"Princess outfits. Great. If I order that online, it will be there sometime around next... year," Sam shakes his head.

"Then go to a store," Kensi rolls her eyes at him.

"If I go to a store, I pay fifty bucks for something the girls will wear once," Sam mutters.

"And you'll make them very happy for once," Kensi returns.

"And your wife will forgive you," Callen offers.

"... alright, yeah... yeah, I'm buying princess outfits. Great, as if I got no better to do," Sam grumbles.

"You had to complain about the casserole," Callen shrugs.

"You should get them a wand also. Wands are always cool," Marty throws in.

"The girls only get to use them under our watch," Sam grimaces.

"Why's that?" Marty makes a face.

"It might be possible that one of them almost poked another girl's eye out, by accident," Sam sighs.

"Seriously?" Kensi frowns.

They are very... perky little children," Sam argues.

"That is an understatement if they poke a random girl's eyes out," Kensi shakes her head.

"They didn't," Sam insists.

"Aha," Marty grimaces, not buying it.

"So... no wands," Sam gesticulates.

"No wands," all agree. Callen looks at his younger brother, and he is actually smiling, still smiling. Whatever Nate does with him in the single sessions, it seems to work. And that is why Callen allows himself to smile as well.

Hell can happen, but sometimes princesses can save the day.


	15. Waves & Battle Scars

Author's Note: Huge thanks to all you readers and reviewers. You are so, so, so, so nice. To each and every one of you: thank you very much.  
Alright, I hope you'll enjoy this one. I just wanted to develop the relationships a bit further.  
Read and review as you may. You make me sooo happy with your reviews ;)  
Enjoy!

* * *

After a briefing in the Ops, the three agents are making their way downstairs to head out for investigation.

"Okay, so we'll simply go to the scene and see what we get from that. Once Nell's located the suspects, we'll head for the boatshed," Callen orders, as he suddenly stops dead in his tracks.

"What is it?" Kensi frowns.

"Cramp?" Sam huffs.

"... that is the first time of action," Callen says.

"Yeah, finally, so what?" Kensi blinks at him.

"... what do I do with Marty?" Callen asks, now turning to them.

"Oh," Kensi grimaces.

"Oh," Sam joins.

"Guys, don't 'oh' me, make suggestions!" Callen grumbles. It was actually quite convenient that they had so much paperwork in the last couple of days. That way he didn't have to worry about Marty being left alone in the office, but now that situation is there, well... what do they do now?

"He already killed the riddle books I gave him," Kensi shrugs.

"... maybe I should just make him sit with Hetty?" Callen grimaces. The kid likes Hetty. And it's obvious that she has taken a liking to him also. She even showed him the Spyder, after all.

"She's in a conference," Sam shakes his head.

"What about Nate?" Kensi suggests instead.

"Not available... he's _with_ Hetty on that conference," Sam returns.

"Ugh, sucks," Callen exhales.

"Nell and Eric shouldn't be too busy, though," Kensi shrugs.

"You really think it's good to have him hang around in a place where he can see dead Marines and stuff?" Sam grimaces.

"Do you really think he cares?" Kensi returns. Marty has seen much worse. She doubts that he'd get nightmares from that.

"Jurisdictions would mean to argue," Sam huffs.

"Jurisdictions wouldn't want Marty in here anyways, so... screw them," Kensi retorts. It's not like Marty would twitter their latest findings... he doesn't even have a twitter account.

"True again... I ask him, then them... I really have to make up a plan for that," Callen shakes his head.

"Yep," Sam shrugs.

"Yep," Kensi joins with a smirk. They come downstairs, where Marty is tossing paper balls into the trashcan lazily.

"Hey... are you heading out?" he asks directly.

"Yeah. So... you wanna go home, stay here or maybe see if you can hang out with Eric and Nell?" Callen offers.

"I think the planet would be thankful if I didn't produce more paper trash," Marty grimaces.

"So, home or up in the Ops?" Callen asks.

"... rather stay here," Marty shrugs.

"Okay, do you want me to ask them, or...," Callen asks, but Marty waves his hands in the air, "No, I'm not a baby. I can ask them myself."

"Alright, just call if something's up," Callen nods.

"Yeah, sure... be safe, you guys," Marty says. Callen nods, then joins Sam and Kensi, and the three head out. Marty grimaces, but then decides to head upstairs. He is just bored out of his mind... then you get over your embarrassment. Really, he shouldn't be as much of a baby.

"Hello?" he asks cautiously as he walks in.

"Oh, hey, Marty, what are you doing here? If you're looking for Callen, he's taken off," Nell blinks at him, flashing a sweet smile at him.

"Yeah, no, I know. It's just that he said I might hang out here till they are back, if it's okay, I mean...," Marty shrugs.

"Oh, oh! Yeah, no, that's awesome. Come over here, you sit with us," Nell offers quickly.

"Thanks," he replies hesitantly, walking over to her.

"Not for that. We didn't get to see too much of you yet anyways," Eric winks at him.

"We live in our little Ops bubble all day long," Nell adds.

"So whatcha wanna do?" Eric asks.

"Dunno," Marty shrugs. That is something new to him anyways. In the streets he didn't have much time to goof around. He had to make sure he had a place to stay the night, gather food, keep away from the police, the usual troubles. But now... that is gone, which is great, but that also means Marty has no clue what to do with his time when no one is around. The guys are making any effort to keep him occupied, but Marty just can't tell what he'd do if not for them.

"Indecisiveness is no crime," Nell winks at him, "Okay, you could play some computer games, or you could mess with the interactive whiteboard."

Marty frowns at her. _Now_ what the hell?

"You never messed with such a thing, did you?" Eric grins at him.

"They don't exactly lie around in the street for free use," Marty grimaces.

"That is very true... would be cool, though. Wanna try it?" Nell beams at him enthusiastically.

"Sure... if it isn't a problem," Marty shrugs.

"Surely isn't. We aren't using that one anyway, so you can mess with it," Eric assures.

"... how?" Marty asks after glancing at it.

"Learning by doing. I switch it on, you figure it out," Nell smirks at him.

"What if I break it?" Marty argues.

"We are top analysts who chase down criminals in the virtual network... I don't think you can break it that far. Eric can shut down the entire internet," Nell assures.

"Even Twitter?" Marty blinks at them.

"Even Twitter," Eric grins proudly.

"I'm impressed," Marty grins. Nell switches the board on for him and Marty starts to tentatively copy the movements he observes with the analysts. He's seen it a few times on TV, but this really feels like magic. He lets the pictures bounce up and down, right to left, actually enjoying himself a lot. After a while, the teenager searches for videos of the ocean and makes it fill up the entire screen, then settles down on the ground and watches waves crushing. He loves the ocean, everything about it. The color, the smell, the beach, the sounds, and God, the waves. He loves the waves.

"Already bored?" Eric's voice rings behind him. Marty turns around with wide eyes, "No, why?"

"Coz you are just watching... a YouTube video in endless loop?" Eric cocks an eyebrow at him.

"Oh, that? No, I just... I love the ocean. On the screen it looks almost real," Marty smirks.

"Beach bum after all?" Nell snickers.

"Well, I tried to go there as often as I could, but... doesn't always work in the streets," the teen shrugs.

"Yeah, true. Hey, if you like this, then maybe you like that video?" Eric smirks. He flips another video over to Marty's screen, showing a surfer performing crazy stunts. Marty moves closer to the screen, eyes wide, smirking broadly.

"Gabriel Medina, right?" the teenager beams at him.

"You know him?" Eric frowns. He actually thought he'd just flash the kid with it.

"Who wouldn't know the top of the world, right?" Marty shakes his head. That was one of the reasons why he sneaked into beach bars, if only just to catch a glimpse of the surf contests.

"So you are into surfing?" Eric asks with a smile.

"Would _love_ to say yes, but... ugh... well, I only did when I was... it's been _ages_ since. As much as I would have liked to, I couldn't carry a board around with me. That gets to heavy to carry around all day... _wait,_ you're surfer," Marty blinks at the older man, realization dawning on him, as it seems.

"As can be seen by the trunks and sandals," Nell snorts.

"People wear Hawaii shirts and weren't to Hawaii either," Marty replies in his defense.

"No, he's an absolute crack, trust me," Nell rolls her eyes with a smile.

"Really?" Marty blinks at him enthusiastically.

"Yeah, really," Eric grins.

"That's _so_ cool," Marty smiles, glancing back at the screen briefly.

"Hey, if you want, you can come with me next time," Eric offers. Marty almost falls to the side as he twists back around, "What?"

"I'm a liberal surfer. I can share a wave," Eric shrugs.

"... I don't have a board," Marty shakes his head.

"No shame, I got so many old ones, I have a whole collection for you to fetch from," Eric argues.

"I can't accept that," Marty returns vehemently.

"Yes, you can. Question is just if you want," Eric insists.

"I would love to, but... I don't know. I will probably suck so bad that all will just laugh," Marty grimaces. He can't imagine he will be able to stand on a board to begin with. Really, this lies so far back...

"My surf community is really nice," Eric assures him.

"I would have to ask G first," Marty argues. He can't just say yes to such an awesome offer without consulting his older brother first. And anyways, this is too cool to be true, right?

"Then you do that," Eric shrugs.

"You're serious...," Marty glances at the man, seemingly still not buying it.

"Yeah, if you want, then... I'm always happy to have more people into surfing. There isn't enough of us," Eric grins. The teenager almost jumps at that, "Oh my God!"

"You seem excited?" Nell smirks at him.

"Hell yeah," Marty nods, his voice almost an octave higher.

"Well, you just ask Callen, I bet he'll be _delighted,"_ Eric grins. Marty turns back to the screen, looking at the surfer performing the stunts. He loves the ocean.

* * *

Some time later, Callen returns to the office. He makes his way to the Ops.

"Hey," he greets them.

"Hey... where are the others?" Nell asks curiously.

"Sam and Kensi are in the boatshed to run the interrogation. I wanted to coordinate things here with you. As soon as they are done, they'll catch up with us, but it looks like that guy will break. He already cried when we got him," Callen shrugs.

"I like it when the bad guys break that easily," Nell snickers.

"Yeah, those are alright to take on... so, you enjoyed yourself alright, kiddo?" Callen asks, turning to Marty, who nods his head frantically.

"What now?" Callen frowns. He actually expected Marty to be downcast after being "parked" in the Ops after he had to take off for the mission. That was definitely not the reaction he had suspected.

"Eric's surfer," Marty brings out.

"Yeah, I know that," G smiles, shaking his head lightly.

"He's said, uhm, that he'd... he'd take me along? He has some spare boards and... well, you know," Marty rambles. Nell just smiles at how cute he looks like that.

"I didn't know you liked surfing," Callen tilts his head.

"I didn't do it for long, but I love the ocean," Marty admits.

"So are you asking me for permission?" Callen concludes. Marty nods his head frantically once again.

"Well, if Eric keeps an eye on you, I don't see a problem," Callen shrugs.

"I won't leave him out of sight, scout's honor," Eric assures.

"You never were with the scouts," Nell argues.

"You know how I mean it," Eric rolls his eyes.

"Well, if you wanna go, you go, Marty," Callen says.

"Seriously?" the teenager beams at him.

"Well, yeah?" Callen smirks. Marty nervously fidgets around, looking _utterly_ happy. Callen can't help but smile. If he had known that the prospect of surfing would make Marty that joyous, he would have proposed that to him _way_ earlier. There is just so much more to learn, still. And he is looking forward to all of it.

Callen feels his phone vibrate. He glances at the screen grinning, "Okay, Sam just confirmed: the guy broke down in tears and admitted everything. That means... we just have to write the reports. So... Eric, how are the waves today?"

"As far as I know, really good," Eric smirks.

"Then why don't you and Marty go catch some?" Callen grins.

"Marty? You up to it?" Eric asks. Marty nods.

"Then you should get going, before I change my mind," Callen winks at the teenager.

"Thank you so much, G," Marty almost vibrates like a mobile phone in excitement.

"Not for that, now get going," Callen nods at his younger brother. Marty almost dashes out of the Ops. As Eric means to walk past Callen, he stops him, his voice calm, "If something happens to him, you know that I will kill you, right?"

Eric's eyes open wide. He lets out a dry laugh before turning serious again, "He's safe with me."

"Good, then have fun," Callen smirks mischievously. Eric walks off awkwardly, visibly intimidated. Nell shoots Callen a glare, "And here I thought you grew soft."

"Hey, I told him to have fun," Callen grins. Nell just shakes her head with a smirk, returning to her screens.

* * *

Later on, the three agents are finishing up the reports.

"... you should've seen his face. He was totally cheerful," Callen grins.

"Well, good for him, right?" Sam smirks. And obviously good for Callen also, because he grins like a Cheshire cat.

"Yeah, only problem we might get is that our male analyst will now always try to excuse himself to go surfing with Marty instead of working the cases," Callen argues.

"We have Nell," Kensi shrugs.

"True again," Sam tilts his head.

"I just hope he doesn't hurt himself or so," Callen grimaces worriedly.

"G, he'll be fine. If not, you can still rip Eric's head off," Sam suggests.

"Definitely," Callen nods.

"And people tell me I have anger issues...," Kensi mutters under her breath as she fills out the next page. Suddenly two surfboards come into view.

"Now look who's back," she says louder, grinning at the two. Marty and Eric lean the boards against one of the walls. The teenager is still dripping from his hair, the white shirt Eric seemingly gave to him is soaked at the edges and he's got sand on arms and legs, but it's impossible for him to smirk any broader than he does now.

"Hey... had fun?" G asks. Marty nods erratically. Callen gets up from his chair to take a close look at the teenager.

"Didn't get hurt?" the agent asks suspiciously. Marty shakes his head vehemently. Callen gives him another quick check-up, before he nods at Eric, who is visibly tensed. He passed the test.

"Good. So... what was up?" Callen asks casually.

_"Everything!"_ Marty brings out. He can't remember the last time he's felt that good, really. Well, okay, shooting with Callen comes pretty close, but surfing... that is just freedom. Pure and simple... just freedom.

"Your brother's really good. I'd say a natural," Eric grins with a wink.

"You didn't see Eric. That one wave was like...," he moves his hands around hastily, words no longer having any space inside his head. There is just waves and the ocean and the beach and the surfboard and did he mention the waves?

"The little bugger can actually do tricks," Eric winks.

"Please, I was underwater longer than on the board," Marty shakes his head. He knew he'd be rusty, but Marty was surprised himself just how rusty he was.

"I've seen people with more experience who drink way more saltwater," Eric argues.

"_For sure,_" Marty rolls his eyes.

"Hey, I'm surfing every Sunday, if you want... you can join," Eric offers.

"Can I?" Marty asks, to which Eric nods. The teenager instantly whips his head back around to Callen, "Can I?"

"Nothing speaks against it, I guess," Callen shrugs.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!" Marty exclaims. Callen can't help but smile. Really, just how little it takes to make that boy happy, it's amazing the agent everyday anew.

* * *

The same night, Callen is in the living room, pacing up and down in front of the sofa, only in jeans. A soft voice rings over his laptop with Russian phrases he repeats. Suddenly he hears footsteps approaching. The agent whips his head around to see Marty standing in the hallway groggily.

"Hey," the older brother says softly.

"Hey," Marty nods with a frown.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" Callen grimaces. He is still not used to having someone in the house. His nightly routine very often involves muttering Russian or working out, but now that he has a brother... _yeah,_ he has to work on that.

"No, just wanted to drink something. I guess I swallowed too much saltwater," Marty smirks lazily. Callen grins back at him.

"What are _you_ up to, though?" Marty grimaces.

"Uhm, I'm learning Russian," Callen admits.

"Ah, okay...," Marty nods. He walks over to the fridge, grabs a bottle of water, and walks over to the couch to flop down on it.

"Don't you wanna go back to sleep?" Callen asks in a soft voice.

"I'm sitting on the couch now, I guess that is a 'no'," Marty argues with a gentle smile. He enjoys those quiet moments with his brother, actually cherishes them. Ever since he learned that G is his brother... he eased at his presence. His heart stopped beating so fast and so hard that he could hear it in his ears, like he always did in the streets and in the ring. Always on alert, always hyped up. With G... there is suddenly this calm in his life, the quietness, the silence. Marty really likes it, _loves_ it, actually. To him, G is very much like the ocean, and that means means something, means about everything.

"Right," Callen grins, sitting down next to his younger brother, stopping the program.

"What does that word mean?" Marty nods at the screen.

"It's a sentence, a proverb," Callen explains.

"Oh, well, to me it's all funny swirls anyways... what does it say?" Marty asks curiously.

"_How well you live makes a difference, not how long_," Callen translates. Marty nods, leaning back a little, contemplating on the saying.

"Very true," he says after a while, his eyes drifting off to his older brother, and the scars marring over his chest.

"Yeah," Callen sighs.

"How did you get these?" Marty asks, nodding at the gunshot scars.

"On a joint NCIS operation with the D.C. Department," Callen explains. Marty glances at him curiously.

"It was a drive-by shooting. Didn't even see it coming. Obviously. It was critical for a while," the agent adds.

"Saw a guy with so many holes just once," Marty swallows.

"Yeah?" G cocks an eyebrow at him.

"That guy was dead instantly," Marty shakes his head. The guy was _decaying_ before he hit the ground.

"Well, I'm a tough cookie... even if rehab and all took me four months. Trust me, I was crawling up and down the walls," Callen smirks softly.

"I picture," Marty nods.

"Later we found out on that it was a failed assassination attempt," Callen adds.

"Who was it?" Marty blinks at him.

"A former CIA operative," G says.

"You worked for CIA before, right?" Marty grimaces.

"Yeah. The guy wanted me gone because I knew about a secret mission in Russia, just as a few other people he wanted to get rid of. He wanted to cover up his treason and prevent disclosures. Would have been harmful for the business," Callen shrugs.

"Wow... you really have a dangerous job," Marty exhales uncomfortably. The teenager is not delusional. It stands to reason that his older brother has battle scars to show, but that doesn't mean he has to like it, right?

"Yeah, but to save people. That's what counts. You know that, too, don't you?" Callen returns.

"I try," Marty nods.

"How did you get yours, the one that got infected?" Callen asks.

"That one... I got because I had my funny five minutes," Marty shrugs with a snort.

"What do you mean?" Callen frowns.

"I get that once in a while. You know, say something, do something against better judgment, against common sense and actually believe this is gonna work out," Marty rolls his eyes.

"Okay," Callen nods.

"Hm, well, I pushed my luck with one of the guards in the ring. It was short before I was sent to Carter... I vehemently protested. Maybe should've put up banners. As if any of it mattered," Marty huffs.

"Why did you?" Callen questions in a gentle voice.

"I knew the Big Sale would come," Marty explains.

"So... you wanted to be back before that," Callen grimaces.

"Yeah. Boss said that Carter may take me longer or so... we never knew. But I _did_ know that Big Sale would mean... kids gone. I thought that I might save some if I... if I were there. Well, I made that guy real mad at me as he walked me to the Boss and then I just jumped him and started punching him. Didn't even care that he was like... six feet tall, felt ten... He fought me off... I jumped him again... we struggled... I wouldn't let go, even bit him, _blegh_... eventually he drew his gun and fired. Well, grazed my side and... I passed out. Next thing I remember, they kinda patched me up. The Boss told me that I would go nevertheless, and... after that they threw me back into the cellar," Marty explains.

"Wow...," Callen whistles. He knows that his brother seemingly has a natural wish to protect people, but it never ceases to amaze him just how far that teenager went, without gun, without anywhere to turn to, and possibly nothing much to fight for.

"We both live dangerous lives, I guess," Marty exhales, leaning back a bit.

"Yeah," Callen agrees.

"Do you regret it sometimes?" Marty asks tentatively.

"What? Getting shot, sure as hell," Callen smirks.

"Yeah, no. I'm talking about... huh, how do I put that...? Okay, so... you make choices in life, right?" Marty begins.

"Right," Callen approves.

"Well, and I guess at some point you decide to live a... dangerous life, or not," Marty goes on.

"Yeah," G nods.

"For you... joining the Army or CIA, later on NCIS," Marty shrugs.

"Exactly," Callen smirks.

"When you get hurt like that... you ever regret that you... chose the dangerous life?" Marty asks in a soft voice.

"Do you?" Callen asks.

"I asked first," Marty huffs. Callen chuckles softly before he takes his time to think about it.

"There are times when you... _waver..._ you know, in hospital, when you pity yourself," G grimaces.

"Yeah," Marty nods.

"But then... I like to remind myself that taking that kinda risk means that... we save people or at least we try to save more than we take down," Callen admits.

"I guess that's the satisfaction of your job, huh?" Marty shrugs.

"Yeah. Well, and I guess same is true for you," Callen smirks.

"What? I got shot being silly. You got shot on a mission to save the country, people," Marty argues.

"So did you. You tried anything to save those kids. And you managed... So... do you regret it?" Callen asks. Marty doesn't have to think this time, "No."

The two lean back, enjoying the silence around them.

Sometimes even comparing battle scars can bring you closer together, as it seems.


	16. Nightmares & Writing One's Own Story

Author's Note: Thanks for the nice reviews. I know I had to keep you waiting, but... term papers... they take up much of your energy and time you could spend much more usefully on... fanfiction.  
Anywho, I hope you'll like this chapter. It's a bit darker once again, so that you are warned.  
Read, review, enjoy, please ;)

* * *

A few days later, Marty is, once again, stuck in a single session with Nate. Yes, stuck. Those sessions got ever so annoying now that the teenager re-discovered the absolute awesomeness of surfing. Waves mean perfection, a moment of absolute clarity. All troubles disappear, fade away as the water surrounds you, embraces you. For brief moments... Marty is just a surfer, on his board, having a good time. As corny as it sounds, suddenly all troubles seemed so far away, but now he sits here and feels not embraced, he feels suffocated. The idea of rooms makes his skin crawl. Marty can't tell for sure why that is so, because it's not because of Nate. Or G. And he loves NCIS. And G's apartment, but... it's no longer the way he is used to. And of course this is good, because this means stability, safety, his friggin' brother. But it also means that he no longer sleeps with the stars above him. Marty doesn't spend his days roaming down the streets, where no walls could hold him. Something that he actually appreciated in a twisted kind of sense was that he had this feeling of freedom, at least in this spatial sense. He had no walls that held him, no rooms that imprisoned him. If he entered a vacant house to spend the night, then he decided to do so, but now... he is behind walls all the time. And that makes him nervous, more than nervous. And with the sessions... that is when he always feels caged. That is when the walls hold him, really. He is confronted with something he would rather run from, used to run from before, but can no longer. So yeah, that makes his skin crawl and he would rather be anywhere but here. Or just on his board. Maybe he should suggest to Nate to hold the sessions on surfboards? So why does Marty do it? Ah, because it's therapeutic. Thanks Freud and Co.

"... are you listening?" Nate's voice rings in his ears. Marty whips his head around, "Would love to say yes, but that'd be a lie, sorry."

"No problem. I like to space off at times also. I said that I want to ask you a personal question," Nate assures the young man.

"Aren't all those questions personal? I mean, okay, except for when we have our psychology death battles," Marty grimaces. And even that is in a way personal. The teenager always failed to grasp that concept. People say it's a private questions once it hits a certain... level of one's own life that makes your skin crawl if you touch it, but even your opinion on Freudian dream interpretation is your opinion, which makes it personal again. The hell, even talking about the weather is personal because _you_ talk, so... are there any impersonal questions?

"Yeah, no, but that is _very_ private," Nate warns him.

"... be sure I won't like it," Marty swallows. At least the psychologist is always giving him a fair warning, something Marty learned to appreciate a lot, but still... he would appreciate it even more if Nate just stopped asking him those _very_ personal questions and just swing his magical wand at him to fix everything, make Marty a normal teenager again so he may live his life. That would be totally amazing, but... sadly, that's not how it works.

"The rules are the same. You don't have to tell me if you are not ready for it," Nate explains. Marty nods for the psychologist to go on.

"Well, you actually talked comparably much about the ring and the time in the streets, but we hardly touched the time before that...," Nate begins, and Marty's heart instantly sinks, all the way to the bottom of the ocean. He knew this would come up, but... he hoped way later, like... years, decades, centuries later?

"You want me to talk about my... parents," Marty licks his lips, his muscles tensing so much that they hurt. _Damn._

"Yes," Nate nods.

"Uh, sorry to rebuff you like that, Nate, but... I don't touch that topic for a reason," Marty shakes his head.

"May I know that reason?" Nate asks.

"They are outta my life for good. You said yourself that I'm supposed to make room for what's good for me. Nothing of that was good for me. So I don't give it space anymore," Marty explains, anger rising in his voice. Whenever he merely hears the word, he could go through the roof. That guy's not supposed to ever call himself a "parent". That is a right he lost long, long, long ago.

"Then what made them corrupt in that sense?" Nate questions.

"_Corrupt?_ Wow, that's... okay, know what?" he gets up, "I'll tell you this one thing about my 'family' now, but after that I won't ever lose a word about it again."

"Marty," Nate warns him, but Marty is having none of it, "No, I don't talk about them for exactly that reason. I don't want to talk about them. I won't ever grant them that much space in my life again."

"Then what do you want to tell me about your parents?" Nate asks tentatively.

"My old man was a sadistic asshole who's taken it out on his wife and his kid that he was a screwed up drunkard. My history of abuse didn't just start with the ring. That's all I'm saying. And as you probably know, I took measurements into my own hands, with a gun," Marty curses.

"Yeah, I read about that. What happened that night?" Nate asks.

"I fired a gun. That's all I'm saying. All I say about my parents is that they are gone, for good," Marty grits his teeth. There are things he won't share with class, that _is_ such a thing.

"What about your mother?" Nate asks.

"Gone, too," Marty mutters under his breath.

"Did she also do what he did to you?" Nate asks.

"No, never," Marty shakes his head.

"Then what makes you so angry at her, too?" Nate asks cautiously.

"Uh, lemme think about it, perhaps coz she was just too much of a coward to get herself and me outta that situation but rather let it happen. She never raised her hand against me, that is what I have to give her, but she didn't prevent it either, not the way she should have. So yeah, both are gone outta my life for good. That is all you'll ever hear coming from me when it comes to my parents. That is all _anyone_ will hear about my parents. I don't want to have to do with them, I don't want to think about them, no, only just waste a thought alone is too much. I don't want to work on that trauma, _ever._ You can really trust my judgment on that one, that is something I won't touch. Not even you and your fancy psychology twists and turns will get me there. That's a knot that remains a knot," Marty declares.

"Okay, if you don't want to talk about it, that is your decision, Marty," Nate nods, keeping his voice purposely calm. With this teenager he long since understood that you can only push him so and so far. If you push further, he will shut down. Especially now that they removed the first "rubble", so to speak. Marty did take huge steps to reveal himself to Callen, with admitting that he was roofied and some other things, but now they are at the point where they get down to the core of things, and Marty is well aware of that. And that is exactly what keeps him from it and what makes it for Nate so hard to reach him. Marty knows where they are heading with this, and that is why he puts up all his defenses to keep the last territory.

"Right, my decision, my life," Marty sighs, anger slowly leaving him.

"Your life. If you don't want to talk about them, then that is your choice," Nate assures him. Marty kneads his hands hands nervously.

"What number?" the psychologist asks.

"Eight," Marty admits.

"Okay. Now I want you to sit down and take a couple of deep breaths to regain focus," Nate administers. Marty flops down in his seat and allows his breath to even out. Maybe it's no meditation, but this actually works. He controls his breathing, controls the situation.

"Okay, good, where are we at?" Nate asks.

"Six," Marty exhales.

"Good," Nate nods, "I hope I didn't push you too far with this."

"No, no... now you know. People always ask, is nothing new to me," Marty huffs. Nate notices the fake smile, of course, but doesn't say anything about it.

"Just remember that even when you touch such topics, you stay in charge, yes?" Nate reminds him. For Marty it is very important that he keeps up the feeling of control. One of the reasons, or so Nate figures, why the teenager shuts down like that is because he fears the loss of control. That is when he feels vulnerable.

"Yeah, the past is past because it's past. I know," the teenager sighs.

"Call that to mind again and again. I know it sounds weird at times, but it helps you visualize and therefore reduce your stress," Nate advises him.

"I don't have stress," Marty huffs to which Nate shoots him a glance.

"Fine, I do have stress," Marty chuckles weakly.

"And that is very natural, Marty. You have to deal with a lot. And up until now we even managed the treatment without the use of medication. That speaks for your great willpower," Nate assures him.

"I don't want to take stuff that makes me all... mushy inside the head," Marty shakes his head.

"I know, we talked about this," Nate nods.

"Yeah," Marty sighs. That was no pleasant talk. Already the thought of being drugged like that makes his skin crawl and itch. One of the kids in the streets once talked about he had to take antidepressants for a while. The guy, Marty never learned his name, was only two years older than him. He couldn't handle his mother's death and turned suicidal, which is when his father sent him to a psychiatrist and he was drugged up his ass. He had told Marty that this was the scariest thing ever, that it was even worse than dying, or being close to, to be this lolling piece of meat, really... that was why the boy ran from home, to get away from this. The way he's put it, Marty very soon understood that drugs, even if they are prescribed, are nothing he wants close if he can help it. He doesn't want to be bystander in his own life more than he is anyways. Not that he thinks that either G or Nate have any interest making him a vegetable, the fear is there that this might happen at some point, against either one's will. So, no strong medication if he can help it, no.

"But that makes it ever so important that you visualize such things and call them to mind. If we fail to take that hurdle, we may have to think about medication once again, because no matter what, if your stress level spikes up to nine or ten, we have to be sure we can snap you out of it," Nate warns him with utmost care. Marty clearly expressed that he doesn't want to take medicine in that form, very likely because it marks the loss of control once again. Yet, it may become necessary now that they get to the core of things. Whenever they touch a "dangerous" topic, Marty goes all up to nine and ten with his panic, and that means something. If they don't get a handle on this, there may be no other way.

"Yeah, I know, I know... just repeat it inside my head: I'm in charge and all, yadda," Marty exhales.

"Marty, you have to take that seriously," Nate argues.

"I am. I just keep on being sarcastic, bad habit," Marty admits, now actually honest. That has always been his way of dealing with problems. He joked about it, for many parts. It helps, if only just a little.

"Well, just remember. These exercises are supposed to help you. I know how annoying this is at times, but that is future management we do right here, so that you can handle your life your way," Nate explains. Just as it is important to make Marty realize that he can control a situation, it is as essential to make him see that there is a future and that they aren't just building castles in the clouds. Marty is actually a rational thinker about these things, which is why he has to see a workable goal in the future, or else he may just withdraw again, and that is nothing they want.

"Yeah," Marty sighs. He knows, he knows all of it. Nate already told him.

"So do you think you'll be okay?" Nate asks.

"Yeah, no, is no big deal, really. I threw at you what all people get who ask me about my parents," Marty manages a weak smile.

"Good, okay, I think we should call it a day, then. I'll see you and Callen for the next group session tomorrow, if that's okay?" Nate asks, realizing that Marty is no longer on-target with his mind anyways.

"Sure," Marty nods.

"Alright, thanks for the talk. I'll see you morrow the latest," Nate says.

"Bye," Marty exhales, gets up, and leaves the room. He quickly makes his way to the bullpen, where the agents are filling out some paper forms.

"Hey," Callen greets him, "How was it?"

Marty shrugs at him.

"Not so good then, huh?" Callen grimaces.

"Not really, but it's okay, I suppose. Is just... ugh," Marty makes a face.

"Yeah, I know exactly what you mean," Callen winks at him. He doesn't like this kind of conversation either. It feels just weird to talk feelings all of a sudden when you spent most of your days trying to hide exactly those.

"G? Is it okay if I go for a walk little while?" Marty asks cautiously.

"What? Yeah, sure, but keep close, okay?" Callen says. He would rather go with him. Truth told, he is extremely protective of Marty. And leaving him out of sight only just for a few minutes makes his heart race, if he doesn't know exactly where he is... or even if he does. This is his little brother, after all.

"Alright, thanks," Marty nods.

"You got your phone?" G asks.

"Yeah, of course," Marty smirks. He likes it that G is caring that much, even if he is acting a bit clucky at times, but... Marty would choose that over no care at all any time. Nate's said it, right? The here and now counts. That is what makes life worthwhile, or at least it should.

"Okay, then go," Callen winks at him. With that Marty takes off. He just needs to see the sky above him for some time. That is just what he needs.

"You think he's alright?" Kensi asks cautiously, once Marty left the building.

"I suppose. He likes to go for a walk even at home, so that doesn't come as a surprise to me," Callen admits, "And I guess if he and Nate tackled a bigger problem, then he does good at... getting his head free, you know?"

"Yeah, might be. You'll know best after all," she winks at him. With that they continue with their work.

* * *

The day carries on uneventfully. The team managed to solve the case they got in later without many problems and Marty was better after the walk. After meal and a movie, both brothers were fast asleep. It's late night when G suddenly hears a loud thud and a series of knocks to the ground. He is instantly on his feet, quickly locating the noises coming from down the hallway. The agent grabs his gun from the table and makes his way down the corridor.

"Marty?" he calls out cautiously, worry bubbling in his throat like acid as he proceeds. He opens the door to the bedroom, the bed, not surprisingly, empty. Callen quickly makes his way over to the other side of the bed, still worried that someone may have broken in, but once he rounds the corner, the real terror hits G. Marty is thrashing on the ground, his arms violently tossing around, grabbing something, but getting no hold on it, his neck so strained that the veins stand out. Callen quickly puts down his gun before he falls to his knees in front of Marty just to see that the boy is screaming his lungs out against a makeshift gag, a bundle of fresh socks that Marty's taken into his mouth.

"Marty? Marty! It's me, G, it's okay. Marty!" the older brother calls out to him, but the teenager is too far away to listen. Callen, at a loss and worried that Marty will knock over more than the lamp on the nightstand, simply grabs on to Marty's upper arms to pull him up so that their eyes meet. Though Marty's eyes are anywhere _but_ on his brother. Callen pulls him close, careful not to hurt him and simply holds on, even though Marty struggles against his grasp. G quickly removes the gag also, leaving Marty growling and gasping for dear life.

"Shh, shh, shh. It's okay, I'm here. Everything's okay," Callen goes on with his mantra in the hope that this actually breaks through to Marty somehow. He pulls him closer to his chest, as far as that's possibly. Gladly and sadly, Marty's powers are fading fast so that he can't put up much of a fight anymore. Once the teenager is exhausted to the point that he is heavily leaning against Callen's shoulder, tears soaking the fabric, Callen fingers for the phone in his jeans and dials with one hand, holding the cell to his ear, "Nate? We've got an emergency. Come here. Now."

He hangs up again, pressing Marty closer to his chest, and mumbles incomprehensible hushed promises into his ear that everything will be alright.

* * *

After a few more minutes, Marty seems halfway coherent again, at least he is no longer sobbing and spacing out.

"Hey," Callen manages to croak out, his voice and emotions raw, "Wanna sit on the bed?"

Marty manages to nod faintly, embarrassment and confusion creeping all the way up to his face. Callen cautiously helps him up and makes the teenager sit.

"You're okay now," Callen assures quickly. Marty nods, "Sorry."

"No, no sorry," G shakes his head. And this almost breaks his heart. His brother shouldn't think that he has to be sorry for such things. No, because that is exactly why he had that godforsaken gag in his mouth, or so Callen figures. Marty didn't want him to hear him cry, sob, scream. G shudders only at the mere thought. But before he can further contemplate on his fears, he's "saved" by the bell, Nate.

"I'll be right back," Callen assures, offering a weary smile before he makes his way to the door.

"I came as fast as I could," Nate breathes hard as he makes his way inside. Callen is actually surprised how fast the psychologist manages to get to his apartment, noting that the guy didn't even change out of his sleep-wear, something for which G is more than glad.

"Where is he?" Nate asks.

"In the bedroom, he's... more or less coherent now," Callen nods, hugging his arms in nervousness. HIs skin feels as though it's constantly electrocuted.

"Okay, so... what happened?" Nate questions, trying to get a picture of the situation.

"I heard a thud and scrambling on the ground. So I got up, thinking I had an intruder here... I located it in Marty's room, so I dashed inside. Found him on the ground almost seizing and...," he has to stop, covers his mouth with his hands, trying to regain focus, "... saw that he put socks in his mouth so that I wouldn't hear him scream. Well, after that I was on auto-pilot. I grabbed him and simply held on for dear life till he stopped struggling. That's when he kinda came back around. And now he's just... exhausted and... sorry and apologetic."

"Okay, here's what we'll do: I'll talk to him, you make yourself a tea or... call up Sam, just calm down as far as that's possible, I'm taking over from here," Nate explains in a calm voice.

"But shouldn't I...?" Callen just wants to do something to help, _dammit!_

"You helped him through it, now let me do my part. I will talk to you once I've seen Marty, that okay?" Nate explains. Callen nods, "Yeah, sure."

Nate nods back at him before he makes his way into the bedroom, where Marty is still sitting, hunched over, defeated, exhausted, sorry, sad... everything and nothing. Callen runs a shaky hand over the back of his skull, sucking in a few deep breaths of air. Just what the hell happened? And what's coming next?

* * *

It takes at least an hour till Nate approaches back out of the bedroom. As Callen catches sight of the man, he is instantly on his feet again, "How is he?"

"Asleep now," Nate assures quickly, "Let's go over there in the living room so he may get his rest."

Callen nods. Both settle down on the couch.

"How did you get him to sleep?" Callen brings out. He thought that Marty would refuse that... possibly till the end of his days now.

"I gave him a mild sedative. He's agreed to it, he was just too exhausted," Nate grimaces. And that surely means something, keeping in mind just how much Marty had refused any such medication before.

"So now... what the hell was that?" Callen grits his teeth, the pictures of Marty almost seizing creeping all the way up behind his eyes, burning like acid.

"Full-fledged nightmare, possibly flashback or both," Nate sighs.

"But... he couldn't snap out of it," Callen grimaces. He knows about nightmares, he has them, too, once in a while, but this here just now... Marty was just... _gone._

"Because it was a very intense dream. Then this may happen," Nate explains.

"I was that close from calling the ambulance," Callen admits.

"And it may have become necessary, but... gladly, your instinct was just right," Nate says.

"Huh?" Callen frowns at him. How was anything right about this? That was perfect disaster, catastrophe. And more than anything, Callen felt absolutely helpless in being unable to help.

"Body contact works for Marty, seemingly. The steady pressure on his limbs and hearing your heartbeat calmed him. That is something very natural for human beings and animals in general, even. So you instinctively did the exact right thing," Nate explains.

"I had no clue what I was doing," Callen exhales wearily.

"As I said, instinct... and sadly, yours worked better than mine," Nate admits, which causes Callen to frown even more, "What do you mean?"

"Well, I touched something in the session today that was... _very_ personal. I had the feeling that Marty was reacting to it in a bad way, but the way he's talked to me, I actually had good faith that he'd not have any setbacks because of it, or else I would have informed you, believe me," Nate grimaces. And that gets G's anger flaring, "What?! What did you ask him? Now spill already!"

"Callen, I can't talk to you about these things. I made an oath not to," Nate tells him in a calm voice.

"Marty had a friggin' panic attack, a straight-up twenty on your scale from one to ten. Something you said threw him over the edge that far! I wanna know what the hell that was!" Callen curses.

"Callen, calm down," Nate says, now a bit louder and more authoritative than G thought.

"I can't calm down when it is about my little brother, Nate!" Callen grits his teeth.

"Yes, you can, and you will. Of course I feel sorry that I seemingly pushed him with what I did and how I did it, but trust me, this is not the first time, and that is something you should be aware of after what you had to see tonight," Nate explains. And that is when the penny drops for Callen, "... he did that before, right? With the... with the gag?"

He has to try everything not to choke on the last word. _God._

"I would suppose so. Marty only confessed it, sort of, now. I didn't know about those nightmares either, or else I would have instructed you what to do in case. Marty didn't share that with either one of us, but from the sound of it, this is not the first time he's done it. Tonight was just a very, very, _very_ bad night so that even the gag couldn't hold him back anymore," Nate exhales.

"But why does he do that?! I mean, doesn't he trust me? I, I thought that we were doing well after all this. He... he seemed... he seemed okay," Callen brings out, emotions taking over.

"Yeah," Nate nods.

"I mean, he joked, goofed around the office, he even started surfing, and he seemed less stressed-out... was all that masquerade?" Callen questions. What if this was all an act and he just didn't catch it, _oh God_!

"_Definitely_ not, Callen, I can assure you of that much," Nate reassures him quickly.

"But... but if he hides such a thing from me, then...," Callen wants to argue, but Nate interrupts him, "He did that most likely to keep what he has once he wakes up. Something that Marty literally absorbed is that this life now counts. He would rather forget about anything he's gone through so far to have a chance to simply live this life."

"So what?" Callen asks, his voice growing weak.

"Callen, he does this, seemingly, to protect you and protect the life he has with you. It matters that much to him that he goes that far to... take the socks," Nate explains with a grimace.

"So what? Am I supposed to take it as a compliment?" Callen snorts dismissively.

"In a sense, yes," Nate nods, causing Callen to stare daggers at the psychologist,"You can't be serious."

"Yes, I can. Callen, you have to understand that Marty's philosophy in life is... extremely simplistic. Once he is better, ask him what his philosophy in life is. You'll be surprised," Nate sighs, actually flashing a smile.

"After that I doubt he'd tell me anything," Callen grits his teeth. If Marty won't even share that with him, then how would he tell him about his philosophy in life, right?

"That one is no secret to him, ask him," Nate encourages him.

"Okay, still... he was fine, Nate," Callen breaks out again. He can't wrap his head around this.

"No," Nate argues, to which Callen can only knit his eyebrows, "What, no? You just agreed that he was okay."

"Okay and fine are two different things. _Okay_ means, at least to me, that he was handling, and that is true. He improved, drastically, given the circumstances," Nate explains. It even came as a surprise to him how far Marty came over the short while he got to know him now, but the psychologist blames it mostly on the teenager's sheer willpower.

"Exactly," Callen argues. He improved after all!

"But he is not in the least _fine._ Callen, I'm sorry, but I have to spell it out to you like that: Your brother was abused, violated, raped, drugged, imprisoned, neglected, deceived, hurt in so many ways that we can hardly understand it. Even though he obviously loves you and cares not only for you but the entire team and considers them family... that doesn't set things straight. That doesn't make up for all those years of abuse and hurt. And far more importantly, no matter how good life might be now, the trauma remains. Marty knows that and I know that you know it, too. We cannot remove that trauma as much as we want to, because it happened," Nate explains.

"But he was okay," Callen insists.

"Yes, but something about PTSD and the other conditions Marty suffers from is that this is no graph that steadily increases. It may go up for a while, a long while even, but then it may drop all the way to the bottom, as we have it here tonight. And it may continue to be bad for days and weeks, years... or be okay the next day, and continue to be. Even in years, when he is long since out of therapy, Marty will continue to have a bad day once in a while. That won't leave him, ever, Callen, sorry. There is no cure to his condition. We can only work on ways of making it easier for him for when it happens and reduce their likability, but those triggers stay, just as does his trauma," Nate says. He has to make that clear to the older brother, or else he'll never gain an understanding of Marty's condition.

"Damn," G curses. Why can't fortune just cut them a break so they may catch their breaths?!

"No matter how fast and how greatly Marty makes progress, there will always be setbacks. That is natural, Callen. Every day is a new challenge to the kid. He has to relearn things, has to learn new things, encounter personal demons and still live between the lines. The pressure on him is _extremely_ high. And then of course there is the factor that he doesn't want to deceive your hopes of being fine. He wants to show you that he is, but what you have to understand is that... he is not, at least not now. He will be fine_r_ in the future. We will do anything to make that happen, but at this moment we have to accept that Marty remains a broken teenager who is simply suffering," Nate makes clear.

"You mean that I can't fix him," Callen sighs, utterly defeated.

"No, you can't. Neither can I. Those fractions and fissures will always stay. We can just make any effort to patch it as best and firmly as we can, you see," Nate explains.

"So there's really nothing I can do other than... making sure he doesn't choke on his own socks," Callen shakes his head in defeat.

"Yes, there are things you can do," Nate argues.

"And that is?" Callen huffs.

"Being there for him, making the time after the nightmare ever so valuable. As I said, Marty does those things because he holds on to the _not-nightmare-time_. If you wanna help him, make sure he stays right with putting that much faith into it," Nate explains.

"I just feel utterly useless," Callen bows his head.

"You feel _plan_less, that's a difference, Callen. I know you. You want a plan, just as does Marty. You don't have control over this, _like_ Marty. And that's... shit to deal with. It sucks not to have a plan, but... if you want to help Marty, you have to understand that... it's about making little steps, baby steps. At this point you may have to accept that you can only plan... from day-to-day. Today was a shit day, tomorrow you get a new chance, as does Marty. I don't say you can't have plans anymore, because Marty also needs structure, but as for how his therapy and his healing progresses... there is no neat time frame for that, no schedule. Both of you have to understand that," Nate explains to him.

"Nate, I need something to build on, okay? Something, be it little, but... _something,"_ Callen admits, biting his lower lip. At this moment, the card house collapsed. He has to build on something, to set up the house again. He can't leave it in ruins. Because it's Marty's and his house, their life.

"I understand. And... I will try," Nate assures him.

"How?" Callen croaks.

"I will come up with something. Trust me and trust Marty, okay? We can do this, just... a bit more time, that's all I'm asking for," Nate says. Callen nods. He'll have to have faith, then.

* * *

"... Okay, Marty. I guess we don't have to say much about it that you had a real breakdown," Nate says, both of them in the first single session after "the night". Marty sits in his chair awkwardly. His entire body feels awkward. _Why?_ Because this situation is awkward. If he thought that he didn't want to be here the other day... Marty would like to revise that now and say that he doesn't want to be here _now,_ at this moment. Because that is real, _real_ shit.

"No point in arguing, I did," Marty sighs, his voice still scratchy from the screaming and crying. If that wasn't already proof enough.

"So, how are you today?" Nate asks.

"Feeling like shit?" Marty huffs, snapping an invisible thread off his sleeve.

"Because of the exhaustion?" Nate questions.

"Because of _everything._ I broke a lamp, G had to see me like this, like _all_ this... this is personal nightmare level... and I'm not talking about what I dreamed about last night that got me... thrashing," Marty smiles, though he is paining. This is just too sad to cry about.

"You're embarrassed," Nate concludes.

"How shouldn't I be, you tell me?" Marty shakes his head.

"Because it's nothing to be ashamed about. It's natural that you have those dreams," Nate assures him.

"No shit? Sorry... I... I get it that those nightmares are natural. I mean, my brain just somehow throws those up right in my face, huh? So no point arguing it comes from natural sources. But the thing is... I feel embarrassed coz G had to see that, I mean... like what the hell was I thinking, gagging myself like that? He probably thinks this is some kinda masochistic kink that survived from my times in the ring... god...," Marty glances at the ground, tears on the verge of falling. Just what the hell was he thinking?!

"Is it?" Nate questions.

"Sure as hell not. I mean... This is like planting your face into the pillow when you moan, or at least it was to me and... I didn't do that coz of masochistic tendencies, I did it coz I didn't want anyone to hear just what the hell my brain is breeding out while I'm asleep," Marty admits, biting his lower lip.

"But why don't you want people to hear you?" Nate asks him.

"Because I don't want anyone to see me like this. I don't want to see myself being like this," Marty shakes his head vehemently.

"If people know, they can help. You saw it. G helped you," Nate argues.

"Yeah, he did... but I didn't want him to," Marty closes his eyes. That is nothing he ever wanted.

"Why?" Nate asks.

"Why do I have to say it when we both already know the answer?" Marty huffs.

"You tell me," Nate smirks faintly.

Because saying it makes it real.

"I don't want that because that means people know I'm nuts. That means people look at me differently. That means G looks differently at me now. Already this morning he looked at me differently, talked differently, he moved differently, poured coffee differently. And that's what I was afraid of, that's why I tried to hide it. I don't want to be seen differently for... for _that,_ coz this shouldn't define me, I don't want it to define me," Marty admits, his voice shaking badly. Nate nods at him, "I understand that. It sucks when people start to tipple-toe and walk on eggshells, don't know what to do, but do you remember when we started this? What I told you? That this would make your relationship stronger, more real?"

"Yeah," Marty replies.

"You don't believe in it?" Nate asks.

"There are too many what ifs and maybes in my life. Even if we set those plans about how I can get a handle on my life and my condition... still too many possibilities. Didn't that last night show? Too many options to go for bad. I can't have even more dark what ifs, not when it comes to my one constant," Marty grits his teeth sadly. The one constant, G. He can't lose it. _Please._

"I see your point," Nate nods.

"Thanks," Marty mumbles.

"Okay, so... I see that we have to make some changes, about therapy, this here, everything," Nate declares suddenly, which causes Marty to frown, "Huh?"

Nate fishes out a brown leather book he holds out to teenager. Marty cocks an eyebrow at him, rather annoyed, "If you come me now with an uplifting quote from some philosopher, I don't guarantee for anything."

"No, this is for you," Nate motions at the teenager to take it, which he does. Marty grimaces at the journal, not too sure what to do with it. He flips it open to some random page, "... thanks, but... doesn't have anything written on it. I already told you. If you want me to draw you something, you will always get a duck."

"This is not necessarily for you to draw in, though you may draw some ducks if you feel like it," Nate winks at him.

"Then what?" Marty grimaces at him suspiciously. The teenager has to admit that Nate never ceases to surprise him, somehow.

"This is a journal," Nate nods.

"Journal, book, notebook, diary... all comes down to the same object," Marty huffs.

"This is _your_ journal," Nate goes on.

"Aha," Marty frowns.

"I see that there are things that you aren't ready to talk about yet, though they come to haunt you. Just as it was with your parents, what probably brought down last night's disaster. There are things that you cannot talk about yet, and that's okay," Nate explains. Marty silences at that.

"And that's what this journal is for," the psychologist goes on.

"Secret diary, seriously?" Marty grins.

"It's a journal, but I want you to set it up in a slightly different way," Nate explains.

"Yeah?" Marty blinks at him.

"When there is... a dark thought, whatever the form... memory, flashback, foreboding, if you're pissed at someone, you write it down," Nate carries on. Marty makes a face, "Not much different from a diary yet."

"Difference comes now: Once you've written this thought or whatever down, I want you to leave space for ten things," Nate says.

"Huh?" Marty frowns at him.

"On every bad thought, I want ten, if it's seven or so that's also fine, but if it's possible, I want ten good ones to follow," Nate explains. That actually causes Marty to grin, "Neutralize evil with good? That's not how they teach it in the books, is it?"

"It's not, but maybe that's what makes it good? You see, the idea is that you talk about it to yourself and only tackle those problems once you're ready for them. And only once you've come to terms enough to share, that is when you do it, here in the single sessions or with Callen. But until then, you can just look back if needed, and then you'll always see those good things, little things, big things underneath," Nate smirks at him.

"And then that problem doesn't seem so bad anymore," Marty smirks faintly, getting the idea.

"That's the idea," Nate nods.

"That's creative and... _literary_ in some sense," Marty huffs.

"I take that as a compliment," Nate winks at him.

"You may... and... thanks," Marty replies in a soft voice.

"Not for that. Wanna give it a try?" Nate suggests. Marty grins at him before he picks up the pen and starts to write.

He's writing his own story now.


	17. The Day Trip - Making It Count

Author's Note: Thanks for the awesome reviews! Some of you asked if this story is complete... no, it's _definitely_ not, and I still have lots to give, lots to write. Therefore, this chapter shall be my answer to it - we are not nearly done with this arc ;)  
I hope you'll like it ^_^  
Read, review, enjoy ;)

* * *

"Hey," Nate greets G as the agent makes his way inside the room. Today's plan? Single session for him. That had to come after... the "Apocalypse Night". And Callen actually has to admit to himself that he needs this, hell he needs this.

"Hey," Callen nods curtly

"Please, have a seat," Nate motions for him to sit in one of the chairs. Callen sits down and says, "Thanks."

"So, how are you today?" Nate asks as he settles down himself.

"Okay so far," Callen shrugs.

"You don't sound too convinced yourself?" Nate argues with a warm smirk.

"Well... I guess it's pointless to pretend that I'm jolly or so... after what happened," Callen sighs. It'd be foolish to say that they are fine again, after all, Nate only made it clear to him that there's no way Marty's ever fine again. _Great._

"So how was it for the two of you since?" Nate asks.

"It's awkward. I mean, Marty's told me about that journal thing and... awesome idea I think, but... I just don't know," G exhales. Really, that night just showed him that he knows nothing, not a single thing. Whatever he believed in, it was turned upside-down, swept into the ocean, swept away.

"Is he talking to you?" Nate asks in a soft voice.

"Some, but he's just... I think he's always embarrassed in some way," Callen shrugs.

"Why do you think is that?" Nate asks.

"You tell me, he's said he's told you," Callen replies.

"In fact," Nate shrugs, "He didn't want you to see him like this, that's obvious."

"Yeah. Well, he's been... kinda down since, but who can blame him?" Callen huffs. Marty tries, that's obvious, too, but he's beating himself up about it, and that only makes matters worse for G, to see him like this.

"No one's blaming anyone," Nate shakes his head.

"I mean... we _do_ talk and... and he even jokes with the guys and I already, but... it feels different somehow," Callen admits, "I think he just... has to sort himself out, still."

"Right, and you? Also feeling down?" Nate questions.

"Of course I am. I don't want my brother hurt like that, hurt at all. So of course that makes me down, but... for the most part, I don't know what to make of it. You tell me that Marty did what he did coz... coz he cares that much about me, but... I don't know, I don't buy it, really," Callen admits, his hands flexing nervously.

"Why?" the psychologist questions.

"Because... it just won't go into my head how Marty could... have _that_ in mind to... _achieve_ what you say. I get it that he's had bad days and that he has those nightmares and that he doesn't want to share that to some degree. Point taken, but... that friggin' gag...," Callen brings out in a shaky voice. That picture won't go out of his head.

"Well, being with a traumatized teenager means jumping into situations that you don't always understand," Nate offers.

"Nate, not again that speech about control, _please,"_ Callen exhales. He got that one even _before_ Marty came into his life.

"I give you that speech all the while because you still don't listen," Nate smirks, "but anyways... I know this came as a shock, more than that. It was terrifying and hurtful and many other things."

"Yeah," Callen sighs. To say the least.

"But maybe this makes you see that you really are undertaking a... Herculean task with taking Marty in," Nate says, causing Callen to gape at the other man, "What now? You think I can't handle?"

"Do _you_ think you can't?" Nate replies. Callen stares daggers at the psychologist. "Why are you asking me this, Nate?"

"Well, do you feel overwhelmed with this sudden responsibility?" Nate asks.

"_Of course_ I feel overwhelmed. You know damn well I never had anything close to a family ever since my mother died and I ended up in the foster care system. The team is the closest thing to family as it could get. So yeah, to suddenly have to not only take care but also _care_ for another person... that is... _overwhelming,_ to say the least," Callen grimaces. Just what is Nate trying to get across here?!

"But you still think you can do it?" Nate questions in absolutely calm, but that gets Callen's anger flaring, "Again, do you think I can't?! Why are you asking me this? I actually thought you were on my side!"

"I am," Nate assures him, but Callen isn't buying it, "Then why do you question me?! I thought you'd, I don't know, _encourage_ me?"

Is that so far-fetched, _really?!_

"Do you need it?" the psychologist goes on in calm, and really, Callen could strangle Nate for always keeping up that calm voice.

"_Encouragement?_ I don't know, but I _definitely_ don't need you to question me on tops," Callen cries out. Really, that is the last thing he needs!

"I don't question you," Nate shakes his head.

"What kinda psychology twist is that?" Callen grimaces.

"No twist. This is just the first time you actually admitted it to yourself," Nate argues.

"I said before that I have some insecurities and that I am not yet sure how to be a big brother," Callen shakes his head.

"Yes, but now you admitted it _to_ _yourself._ Before, you just said that to make Marty admit it, remember? It was an ice-breaker in the first session we had. You see, you like to make yourself believe that everything is fine, at least when ti comes to Marty. That is also what brought you to the conclusion that he was fine. And no, this is not so that you blame yourself, but this experience showed the both of you that you have to make changes the way you perceive your situation. It's not a happy ending yet," Nate explains.

"I'm not delusional," Callen snorts. He is an agent – and not stupid. G understood it by now that this didn't go as planned... and that you can't plan it.

"No, but you are so _positively_ overwhelmed with the prospect of a family that you would rather dismiss all negative aspects, which doesn't mean that you don't pay attention to Marty. That couldn't be further from the truth. But you have to admit to yourself that you were blinded by Marty's cheerfulness to some degree," Nate goes on.

"Yeah... and by my own," Callen admits.

"It just got more real, huh?" Nate sighs.

"Yeah," Callen exhales.

"And did that change something to you, about having him around like this?" Nate questions. And this time Callen's jaw actually drops, "What? No, _no._ Should it?"

"Only if you feel like it. Callen, if you think you can't handle this, personally or practically, then that is your choice, but we shouldn't beat around the bush. That happens," Nate goes on and Callen has to fight any urge not to smack the psychologist for the comment.

"Why are we having that conversation... _now?_ If you think that I am not capable of doing this... then why not from the beginning?" Callen argues.

"Because until now you two were okay. But now you hit the first real low, the first rupture, you see. If you think you can't deal with that, we may have to consider different steps," Nate argues.

"You want me to stop seeing Marty?" Callen gapes.

"No, I just say that if you feel that you can't deal with this 24/7, then we might have to think about having Marty stay elsewhere and you seeing him," Nate explains.

"You can't mean that. You just sound like that asshole from CPS," Callen cries out.

"Callen, I have to be that open to you to make you understand that such lows will be the state of affairs for a long while. Marty requires extensive care. Being part of his life or being his brother doesn't mean you have to live together, though," Nate argues.

"Nate, you're my friend, but at this moment you're walking on thin ice," Callen threatens him.

"I say that _because_ I'm your friend and your psychologist. I _have_ to ask that," Nate insists.

"Fine, okay, then maybe Marty and I are having kinda rough time now. And maybe I don't have a plan yet how to coordinate everything now that I have my brother living with me. Maybe I don't know what to do with him when I'm on a case. Or what to do if he freaks like that. But _what_ I know is that I want him to stay with me. And you'd do better at never asking me that again. I will do anything to make sure Marty is getting better. Whatever investment that needs to be made, I'll make it. I am taking the challenge, no matter what people may think of it. So you will _never_ ask me that again," Callen grits his teeth.

"Okay," Nate nods nonchalantly.

"Okay? Just... _okay?"_ Callen blinks. Now what the bloody hell was that?!

"Callen, I never questioned your devotion. I just know that sometimes you get... ahead of yourself, at least when it comes to these personal things. You get that tunnel view," Nate explains, "but that is not exactly helpful. Tunnel view doesn't capture the bigger picture. And the bigger picture includes such miseries and even those hurtful considerations that you may have to change your plan greatly."

"Okay...," Callen grimaces.

"So, what do you think is the new agenda here?" Nate asks.

"Change perception," Callen grunts.

"Right. You wanna stay with Marty, that's obvious. You'd do anything to make sure he's good, and that even through such hardships. If you can keep up that devotion, then I have no doubt we can work this, with you two living together," Nate explains.

"Did you have to scare me like that?! I thought you'd straightly go to CPS and tell them that I'm not capable of taking care of Marty," Callen slouches down in his chair. Because that is something still looming over Marty's and his new life... whether CPS will give him the status as the teenager's legal guardian.

"You're a stubborn fool at times, Callen, sorry to tell you. As smart and sharp as you are as an agent... in personal life... not always as much. And that is why I have to be that... indirectly direct," Nate smirks.

"Don't do that again. You may do that for other things, though I will surely not like it, but not about Marty, please," Callen lets weakness show. That is a soft spot to him. He can't stand the thought of losing Marty. It's tearing him apart, literally.

"Okay, point taken," Nate winks at him.

"So... what can I do to make him better again?" Callen asks, feeling as though he is finally getting the upper hand again. Now that they have this off the list, they have to discuss what to do. Because that means he can actually do something and not just stand by and watch it happen, something that is against G's very nature. He's one to act, not always second-guess himself.

"Well, we'll keep up with the journal to see if that works for Marty," Nate begins. Callen nods his head, "Sure."

"Though I think there's one thing we may try," Nate suggest.

"And that is?" Callen eyes him curiously.

"Invest more time," Nate states simply. Callen frowns, "... you think I spend too little time with him? I mean... Okay, there are the cases, but I can't just quit my job, right? Other than that... we're together 24/7."

"Quantitatively, yes, but qualitatively not so much," Nate shakes his head.

"What?" Callen makes a face, "The time I spend with him is no good or what are you saying?"

"No, I'm talking about making it special, Callen," Nate corrects him, though he has to smirk.

_"Special?_ In how far?" Callen questions.

"Okay, uhm, let me put it like this: Marty is investing a great deal of time to be around you, with coming to the office with you, even though he knows that this will most likely lead to a case and that you will not have time for him. Still, he comes with you, and doesn't stay home or whatever else," Nate goes on. Callen has to agree. Marty really invests a great deal of time into their relationship in that regard.

"But still, we do spend time together, like... after work. We watch movies and stuff," Callen has to argue nevertheless.

"But that is already part of your usual routine, isn't it?" Nate argues. Callen takes a moment to contemplate... the man is right. Actually, it's a perfect routine already. After work, they either get something from the takeaway, order something, or Marty cooks (Callen is only allowed to prepare things, but nothing close to the oven). They eat together. They watch the news either while eating, or after. If Callen still has some work to do, he settles in the kitchen to work on that in silence while Marty watches his Spanish telenovela (Kensi made him and now he is totally intrigued with it), then they watch a DVD or some other movie, chat a bit, and then go to bed... yeah, they really have that as a routine. Damn, how fast that works is really surprising.

"Marty sees that you're taking time for him, but there is a difference between taking time and making time special. We talked about this before. Marty is also relearning things. Surfing is the best example. It's something he actually knows, but almost forgot about over his past experiences. The same is probably true for many other things that, well, are _fun,"_ Nate goes on. And Callen starts to get the idea here, "I see."

"It's about creating good memories, good thoughts that help him get over the demons from the past haunting him in his dreams and even when awake," Nate explains.

"So that he has more good things to write, I see," Callen nods mindfully.

"Exactly. If you want to make time special, you have to do something out of the normal routine. Do a day trip, something, anything out of the usual. If only just for an hour, on a weekend or so. It's not about quantity, but quality. Make it count," Nate shrugs. Callen nods, "Field trip..."

A smirk flashes over his face. Nate silently smiles to himself.

A plan is set.

* * *

Marty lies in bed, face completely drowned in the pillow. He actually manages to sleep in it for some days now, and today was such a day. He hears a knock on the door. G and he agreed that the older brother should always knock before entering to make himself known. That way Marty doesn't freak as easily... that works, mostly.

"Hey," the older brother greets in a soft voice. Marty makes no attempt to lift his head, "What time's it?"

"Very early, still," Callen snickers. He is actually relieved that Marty is sleeping longer now. In the first few days, he hardly slept till six and then started to do things in the apartment. Of course there is still the issue that Marty is having those nightmares that deprive him of his sleep, but each day it's a few minutes longer, and that, so Callen figures, is good.

"... what's the matter, then?" Marty grunts into the pillow.

"Is time to get up," Callen replies.

"... it's weekend. Why do we have to be out that early, then? Just so that I know?" Marty asks.

"You'll learn once you're in the kitchen. Breakfast's already set. Just get ready, alright? We got plans today," Callen smirks.

"... I'm not getting that flu shot or those I still miss, right?" Marty grumbles, causing Callen to laugh, "Not today, no."

"But that means that they'll come eventually, huh?" Marty grunts. He hates needles, hates them, hates them, hates them.

"Well, you could try to run... but then Hetty's gonna give them to you," Callen snickers.

"She does that? Who does that?! She's your boss," Marty shakes his head into the pillow.

"We all got a shot from her by now, and that ain't a pleasure," Callen laughs at the memory. Sam's eyes almost popped out of their sockets when she just rammed the needle into his arm, without a warning. One of the reasons why they named her 'the wasp' for a while... though all of them still fear that Hetty caught up on it, because she normally catches everything.

"... that's not exactly motivating," Marty sighs.

"You had to start with the shot, now c'mon, you even get coffee," Callen bribes him.

"Fine, fine, gimme... _time,"_ the teenager exhales.

"Alright," Callen smirks before he exits the room. Ten minutes later, Marty appears showered, fully dressed, and much more awake.

"So now. What are we up to?" Marty eyes him curiously.

"Eat," Callen smiles. Marty rolls his eyes at him.

"No breakfast, no information, easy as that," Callen shrugs. One of the downsides is that Marty still has those days when he just doesn't want to eat, according to his mood. And because Callen decided that Marty still needs to put on some weight, he has taken it upon himself to make sure the boy really eats, and actually does that closer to the time he's supposed to. A part of the agent simply fears that Marty doesn't do it in the end, unless he makes sure he does... hence, he makes sure he does.

"Fine," Marty slumps down in his seat and starts to munch a bread roll, "Now. What."

"We're making a trip today," Callen declares.

"... to where?" Marty eyes him curiously.

"That's a secret," Callen smirks.

"You cheater. I could've guessed as much. That's no information," Marty huffs.

"And still you have to eat, so this was no cheating, but a nice way to force you," Callen argues.

"I'll remember that," the teenager snorts.

"As Sam likes to remark, I don't struggle eating things... I eat too much of them," Callen argues with a smirk.

"... was wondering if Sam actually eats," Marty frowns as he takes a sip of his coffee.

"Huh?" Callen cocks an eyebrow at him.

"Well, okay, he's talking about it, but at some point I thought the guy lives off of protein shakes alone," Marty shrugs. Callen can't help but chuckle at this, "I see your point."

Once they finished breakfast, the two brothers make their way outside and to the car. They start to drive down the roads.

"Okay, so I give you that one warning... we're going to two places," Callen says. Marty nods uncertainly. He doesn't like surprises, but he trusts G.

"Alright," the teenager shrugs. Soon, they reach the first destination, which causes Marty to frown incredulously. He turns to the older brother, "You're seriously taking me to a graveyard... _wow,_ that's... that's morbid."

"I want to show you something," Callen smirks.

"Yeah, no surprise... if you come me with my grave, though, I... I might freak, possibly hurl," Marty shakes his head.

"Nothing about you and your grave or whatever. I want you to get to know someone," Callen goes on.

"... If we are summoning dead people, I'm outta here," Marty huffs.

"Nothing like that, I assure you," Callen grins, glad that Marty is at least taking it with humor. He already feared that this might go down like a lead balloon. However, to G's defense, he talked to Nate before, to hear his opinion, and the psychologist agreed.

"C'mon," Callen says as he gets out of the car. The teenager follows suit, though he can't help the remark, "Right, we should hurry up, or else the bodies run away from us before we get to them."

Callen rolls his eyes as they make their way over to the graveyard. The older brother leads the way. Marty glances around curiously.

"Are we still at a manageable level?" Callen asks casually, to which Marty nods, "Solid zero."

"Really?" Callen frowns. He actually thought Marty would be somewhat nervous.

"I don't find graveyards that creepy, really," Marty shrugs, "I don't believe in zombie apocalypse."

"Good to know," Callen smirks as they go ahead. He eventually stops in front of one grave in front of a small pond.

"Okay... There is something I didn't tell you about until now. And I think it's something you should know... deserve to know," Callen begins. Marty still stares at the tombstone ahead of him, "Hannah Lawson..."

That is not making any sense to the teenager, but before his confusion can grow further, Callen carries on, "A while ago, we tracked down a woman by name Amy Taylor."

"Okay," Marty frowns. This is not making any sense either, but they are getting there, seemingly.

"Amy Taylor was née Callen," G carries on. Marty blinks at him, "You mean..."

"It looked like she was my, _our_ older sister, but it turned out her name's Hannah Lawson," Callen carries on in a calm voice.

"... but Hannah Lawson, as it reads here, died at the age of eleven. You said you met a _woman,"_ Marty argues.

"She was friends with Amy when they lived in an orphanage together, so she told me. As it turned out, Amy died at the age of eleven, as it reads here, when they sneaked out by late night to play by a river close to the orphanage and Amy was swept away. It was an accident. Hanna made her way back and... she slept in Amy's bed, probably out of grief. Sadly, authorities weren't very attentive, so no one questioned her disappearance. When Amy's body was found a month later, she was buried under Hannah's name. Hannah became Amy and Amy Hannah," Callen explains.

"... you... we had a sister?" Marty blinks at him. Callen nods, glancing at the tombstone, "Yeah. You see, I thought you'd want to know and... see it. I had to see it to... grasp it."

The teenager nods mindfully, "Yeah... wow... I... I had a sister, too. Clan's getting bigger each day."

"I bet she would've loved to get to know you," Callen adds.

"I would've loved that, too," Marty smirks sadly. He crouches down in front of the grave. He had a sister... it's odd how life plays at times. When he was eleven... he broke free from his personal hell, with a gun... and his sister, well, half-sister... drowned in a river. Is that destiny, or what?

"Thanks for showing me this," he says quietly.

"Your good right. I think I should've showed you earlier already... it's just... you're not the only one who doesn't like to talk personal," Callen smirks faintly.

"Yeah... we have a lot in common," Marty sighs. More than he had ever dared to hope for, actually.

"Yeah...," Callen sighs.

"That gets me wondering again," the teenager smiles sadly, "about this infamous what if..."

"What do you mean?" Callen asks curiously.

"You know what people say at times? That history repeats itself?" the teenager asks.

"Yeah, heard of that before," Callen shrugs. It always amazes him just how many things Marty thinks or thought about, things and topics Callen wouldn't even waste a thought on in a million years.

"Well, I found that concept really interesting. You know, that there might be a world with the same people in it, just... in a different setting, at least that's how I understood it," he shrugs, how would he knows what some philosophers see in it, "Now that I know you're my brother... I had to think about it again. I mean... what would life have been like for that one circumstance changed, that we're not just half-brothers, but... real brothers."

"You are my real brother," Callen argues instantly.

"Yeah, no, I know that. I mean... if we had the same mother, grew up together," Marty explains.

"Yeah, I was thinking about that, too... Then maybe I could've prevented some stuff," Callen sighs. That thought actually danced tango inside his head for a while now. How much G could have changed things, for the better. To keep Marty away from his father, the streets, the sex ring, shotguns and drugs and darkness... in that universe, Marty might be just a happy kid, without so many sorrows that everyone fears he might still drown in them.

"I actually don't think about it like that," Marty shakes his head, "coz... things happen, either way. At least that is my understanding of this concept of history repeating itself. The way I figure... we would've gotten separated, like you and your, _our_ sister did. We all would've ended up in foster care system, possibly getting scattered all around the US. No way to find each other again... I mean... how long did it take till you found out about Amy?"

"Too long, that's for sure," Callen shakes his head with a sad grimace. To the day he wished that he had been there sooner, with her, do something, anything, but... he came too late. However, Callen can't contemplate any further, because Marty carries on, "So... if things happen, just in a different way... then my real parents would probably be my foster parents in that time frame... and then... things may have started that way all over again. If history repeats itself... no way you could've saved me from that, just as I couldn't have saved you from getting shot or... Amy from dying."

"Then why are you smiling like that? Isn't this sad?" Callen frowns. Because the teenager is smiling, actually _smiling,_ not that acted smile, but the one that makes his eyes shine.

"Not to me," Marty shrugs.

"Why?" Callen questions, but Marty shrugs, "... coz that always makes me realize that I would choose this... universe, string, time frame, whatever... over any other. This here is what I want."

"Why is that?" Callen shakes his head, blinking against the sunlight.

"Well... in that other world I picture... we... would've lost each other," Marty says, ripping out a few blades of grass.

"Yeah," Callen nods. That is true. They would have been parted and may never have found back together.

"Well, losing each other is... a loss," Marty shrugs, tossing the blades of grass away again.

"Certainly," Callen nods.

"And... in this universe or whatever, the here and now... we found each other, that's a gain," Marty smirks.

"That is... yeah, that's true," Callen bites his lower lip with a smile.

"So... even with all this shit that's happened to me, to us... if that is the gain... I think it was a good bet," Marty laughs, running a hand over the still dewy grass. He just loves that sensation. And yeah, he didn't think that Callen's plan of a field trip to a graveyard would be much of a good idea, but to see it again that they are really not alone in this, that he's actually alive? That's simply amazing. He is still here and... so is his brother. Maybe it's not the whole pie, but a big slice.

"Wow, okay... that's... didn't see it coming," Callen admits, chuckling nervously, visibly touched by what his brother just said.

"What? You had to show me the grave," Marty laughs.

"So... good choice?" Callen winks at the teenager.

"Definitely," Mart smiles, "... do you come here often?"

"Not as often as I should, but... if you want, we can come by more regularly," the older brother offers.

"I'd like that," Marty smiles. It might be that Amy is no longer under the living, but that doesn't mean she is gone. At least that's what he always told the kids. Say it and it's real. Talk to him, her, it, and it's alive.

"Good, then we do that," Callen smirks, feeling utterly relieved, "You wanna stay here a while longer or you wanna go?"

"I'm good. And I'm itching to see what other destination you have in store. But if we go to a mortician next, I veto!" Marty snickers.

"No, nothing like that," the older brother assures quickly.

"Alright, then we're heading out, I guess," Marty smirks. He gets up and brushes his fingers over the tombstone once, "Bye, Amy."

The two make their way back to the car. Callen can't help but smile. It was a risk he took. And he was straight-up terrified that Marty wouldn't take that well. However, when he looks at his younger brother now, leaning out of the window, allowing the strong breeze to pull his hair back, the sun tickling his nose... this is working better than he thought. After some time, they reach the next destination on the list, something Callen is more confident in that Marty will enjoy.

"A lighthouse?" the younger brother blurts out as they are parking the car.

"Yeah, a lighthouse, Point Vincente. Have you been here before?" Callen asks as they get out of the car and start to trot down the path leading to the building.

"No. I never tramped if I could help it," Marty smirks, glancing around curiously, "Have you been here?"

"No. First time, too," Callen winks at him. They make their way into the lighthouse and up the stairs. Once they reach the platform, they are greeted by a beautiful sight at the ocean. If possible, Marty's eyes almost pop out of their sockets. "Wow," he breathes excitedly. The teenager presses his chest against the railing, staring ahead. Callen marks it off as a "strike". One of the great things with Marty is... you just bring him to the ocean, and the little guy is instantly cheerful.

"Okay, I'm taking it all back: this day trip is amazing," Marty smiles.

"What is it with you and the ocean anyways?" Callen asks curiously. Ever since he discovered Marty's passion, he asked himself just why Marty is so intrigued with the ocean or water in general.

"Coz of that view," Marty nods ahead.

"What about it?" Callen asks. Marty points at the coastline, "First time I saw the ocean... what amazed me the most was... that the sky is the limit, you know? That just... isn't that just amazing?"

"Yeah, that's pretty amazing, thinking about it," Callen can't help but smile. Marty makes him smile a lot, actually. Callen always gave it a roll of his eyes when Sam pondered about how children change your life entirely... but now... Callen starts to get the idea.

"That's just so cool," Marty smiles.

"Glad you like it," Callen chuckles.

"This field trip rocks," Marty laughs back. And for once... everything feels just so incredibly right. They watch the waves in the distance for a while. Eventually, both settle down on the ground, their feet dangling over the rim, arms resting on the railing.

"Hey, can I ask you one other question?" Callen asks tentatively.

"Sure," Marty shrugs. G just made his day... so a bit of Q&amp;A should be okay.

"Nate's told me that I should ask you about your philosophy in life," Callen shrugs his shoulders.

"Oh, yeah... that... well, it' about what I think makes me happy in life," Marty smirks.

"And what is that?" Callen questions curiously. The teenager turns to him, his chin resting on his arm. "Are you good?" Marty asks, blinking against the sunlight.

"What?" Callen frowns.

"Are you good?" Marty repeats.

"I thought we were talking about your philosophy, about what makes you happy," Callen returns.

"Yeah, so are you good?" Marty asks again.

"Yeah?" Callen grimaces with an uncertain smirk tugging at his lips.

"Then I'm good," Marty says.

"Okay, but how is that our philosophy now?" Callen blinks at him.

"I'm good if you're good," Marty explains, "easy as that."

"Easy as that...," Callen shakes his head, glancing at the sea again.

If happiness is really that easy... then they might have a good shot at being really, really happy.


	18. Decisive Mails

Author's Note: Hi, everyone! Thanks for reading and reviewing. You guys _totally_ amaze me!  
So, I'm wrapping a first package with this chapter, but don't worry, I'm _still_ not done. If you hoped this would be the end of it... well, then you take it for that. I think that actually works, but if you want to dig a bit deeper, then please keep reading. I will do my best to keep it interesting for you to read, even if it's getting longer and longer and _longer_ ;)  
Anyways, I hope you'll like this chapter also.  
Read, review, and hopefully enjoy ;)

* * *

Some days later, Callen and Marty make their way over to the bullpen.

Things have actually vastly improved since their first day trip together, and even Nate said that it looks like Marty got over the low and is back on the way up again. Callen knows better now what to pay attention to... and Marty and he made the silent agreement that the socks are kept in the bathroom along with the towels until decided otherwise, even though Nate gave it just a roll of his eyes since that is hardly "therapeutic", but it works for them. Marty just doesn't have the opportunity to, well, use them for that other reason than wearing them. And Callen doesn't always have the urge to double-check. Marty had one real bad nightmare since the day trip, but this time G heard him, got up, and simply held him close. After some ten minutes, the boy was fast asleep again. He had some minor panic attacks, too, but Marty just went ahead and wrote in the journal and that really seems to help him reduce stress. Nate didn't lie when he said he'd come up with something. It's far from perfect, but... looking better. And that's what counts.

"Morning, guys," Kensi and Sam greet the brothers as they make their way over to Callen's table.

"Morning," the two reply. As they sit down, Callen's eyes fall on... _something..._ standing on Sam's desk.

"What is _that?"_ G nods at the object.

"A present... from my girls," Sam declares proudly.

"... yeah, but what is that supposed to be?" Callen asks again, tilting his head.

"As I said, a present, G," Sam grumbles.

"You don't know what it is either, huh?" Kensi snickers, "And you were just too afraid to ask them."

"It's a present," Sam insists. Marty hops up from his chair and walks over to Sam's desk and crouches down in front of the object in question, eying it curiously, tilting his head from right to left and right again.

"That's cute," he smirks.

"Cute? This just looks like a heap of...," Kensi means to argue, but Callen waves his hands in the air. Sam rips heads off when someone accuses his children... or their creative talent.

"Heap of _what,_ Kensi?" Sam glares at her. She flashes a nice smile, "Heap of beautifully looking clay?"

"But you know this is upside-down, right?" Marty throws in with a grin tugging at his lips.

"What?" Sam makes a face.

"It's turned the wrong way," Marty insists.

"No, it's not," Sam shakes his head.

"Then you tell me what this is supposed to represent," Marty shoots back.

"It's an abstract figure, you see? My girls are very creative," Sam lies. Marty nods, acting as though he were impressed, _"Abstract,_ I see. And you're sure this stands the right way?"

"I should know what my children give to me, right?" Sam grumbles.

"If you turn it another way, it's surely not abstract," Marty shrugs. Sam makes a face and starts to twist it mindfully.

"It's still wrong," Marty whispers with a smile on his lips. Sam turns it another time, but Marty still shakes his head, "Nope."

"You're just making fun of me. This isn't supposed to present anything specific at all," Sam grumbles. Marty takes the object and twists it two times and suddenly... "Oh, it's a lizard!" Kensi cries out.

"Really looks like it... now this way around," Callen agrees.

"Hence the green color," Marty winks at Sam, who is still busy eying the object fondly, "This is really good. I mean... the proportions are good."

"I thought this was _abstract,"_ Callen snickers as Marty flops back down.

"Whatever, G," Sam snorts, "you're just jealous."

"Yeah, I always wanted an abstract clay lizard," Callen rolls his eyes.

"You don't? And here I thought I had my Christmas present already!" Marty cries out. Callen nudges him into the side gently. After that the agents work on their papers while Marty busies himself folding some Origami figures. After a while, Hetty appears in front of them, sneaky Lady, really.

"Good day, everyone," she greets them.

"Hi, Hetty," all reply at once.

"Mr. Callen, you received a mail today," Hetty says as she walks over to Callen's desk.

"I checked my post box this morning, nothing but newspaper and flyers in it... and how would you know anyways?" Callen makes a face. Okay, Hetty knows everything, but his mails were actually something she never commented on before.

"I insisted that this shall be delivered to NCIS," Hetty tells him.

"Why do you order someone to send my personal mail to NCIS, Hetty?" Callen questions.

"Just to make sure it reaches you and isn't put in the wrong post box, Mr. Callen," she says, holding the envelope out to him. Callen takes it and examines the paper, but his features instantly tighten as he reads, "CPS".

"What?!" Kensi breaks out.

"That's most likely their... ugh, decision, if I'm Marty's legal guardian now," Callen licks his lips nervously.

"Well, open it already!" Kensi says, already standing. Callen wants to open it, but then stops in the motion as he sighs, "I can't do it."

"What, you can't do it? You need a paper knife or what?" Kensi frowns, but Callen is already on his feet and starts to pace. If G Callen starts to pace... it means he is _beyond_ nervous. And that guy doesn't break a sweat when he has to go against a bunch of terrorists, and that without a gun. His younger brother isn't faring any better. He sits in the chair as though someone tied him to it.

"Goodness sake!" Callen shakes his head. He knows he should just calmly open the mail and read what is written there, but he just can't bring himself to it. Only the thought that maybe they won't make him Marty's guardian... it terrifies him so much that he would just love to grab the kid and flee. However, before he gets completely lost in his fantasies, Sam is suddenly up also and takes the letter from him.

"Sam, what the hell?" Callen brings out, but Sam motions at his partner not shut before he says, "I will read it. Then I tell you what is the result. Just stay cool, this is no dogma, G."

"Mr. Hanna is right. Even if this could be no success, we still have lots of lawyers in store who would love to take over and kick CPS in the nuts," Hetty winks at him.

"Fine, fine, then do it already!" Callen breaks out, folding his hands behind the head as he continues pacing. Sam nods and grabs the paper knife off his table to open the letter. He takes the papers out and starts to skim through the pages, his lips a straight line. Callen stops in front of him, studying his partner's grimace for a hint, but then breaks out, "Now what? Say something already!"

"Well, to sum it up... congratulations," Sam grins.

"Congratulations?! You mean," G brings out, his eyes wide.

"If you don't believe me, then...," Sam wants to joke, but Callen already snaps the papers from Sam and reads it himself. Marty, meanwhile, got up also and is slowly making his way in front of the desk, holding on to the tabletop so hard that his knuckles turn white.

"This is it?" Callen brings out.

"This is it," Sam smirks.

"I'm the legal guardian!" Callen smiles. Marty glances at him with wide eyes, "We made it?"

"Yeah!" Callen laughs. They notified him legal guardian. Marty can stay with him. _Wow!_ But before Callen gets a chance to do some ridiculous happy-dance (even though he is not the type, but who cares?), something is suddenly wrapped around his midsection. He blinks down to see a familiar mob of blond curls. And if Callen couldn't be any happier than at this moment, then he is now, because Marty is friggin' _hugging_ him, something he didn't manage ever since they came to stay together. Callen pats him on the head, wrapping a loose arm around him also. The others just watch in awe. G Callen hugging is new anyways. But G Callen on the verge of crying, in joy... that is a whole new dimension to his character.

"Well, well, Mr. Callen, Mr. Deeks, I suppose that means that this hurdle is finally taken," Hetty smirks after a while. Callen still has a hand on Marty's shoulder, but they are no longer embracing each other.

"I already feared they'd never agree to this," Callen exhales.

"Me, too," Marty nods frantically.

"Well, but they already said that they'll have an eye on us, pretty much," Callen grimaces, "but... who cares, right?"

"Right," Sam winks at his partner. He knows just how much it means to G to finally have a family, and have the security that Marty won't be taken from him.

"Then I suppose that this is the time we toast?" Hetty suggests. And with that Nate, Eric, and Nell come with the drinks. Nate and Callen shake hands. Eric is holding the tray while Nell blows some paper streamers from God knows where through the air.

"Where did you bunker these?" Kensi frowns at Nell, to which she replies with a shrug of her shoulders, "Leftover from Halloween, hence the pumpkins as decor."

Kensi nods with a frown. All take a glass.

"This time actual champagne, Hetty?" Sam winks at her.

"This is a rare occasion. We should cherish it with a good drop, one of the finest of my collection, I may add," Hetty smirks, before she turns to the group, "I suppose that we do not need a big toast, after all, we already did when Mr. Deeks came to stay here in the first place. I'd suggest we simply raise our glasses to the family."

"To the family," all agree, "cheers."

They take a sip, taking a moment to really take it in. It's odd, but this team is in a long time now no longer just a team, it's really a family. And the prospect of a new member touches each of them.

After a while, all start to chat.

"Hey, G," Marty asks after a while. The agent turns to him, "What is it?"

"About this here... I mean... this is awesome and all, that we got it through," Marty licks his lips. Callen can't help but frown, "Sure as hell... _but?"_

"But I wanna ask again: Legal guardian means that you and I live together and that you take care of me and care for me, like... whole program," Marty carries on.

"Yep," Callen nods, "that's what it's basically about."

"So... how is that different from before?" Marty tilts his head, a grin tugging at his lips.

"Not at all... absolutely not at all different, actually," Callen laughs, "that's just to make CPS shut up."

"Ah... that makes sense," Marty smirks, "... and I like to make them shut up."

Callen rubs over his shoulder, pulling Marty a little closer.

* * *

After a few days, Callen and Marty are in another group session, the first after Callen was notified Marty's legal guardian, actually. After the first euphoria, it actually turned out to be the way Marty said: things didn't change much at all. They are together, that's all there is to it.

"... So... you guys seem pretty content," Nate winks at the two brothers.

"Pretty much," Callen smirks. Marty nods.

"That's good. I bet that gave you two a boost," Nate agrees.

"Definitely," Callen nods. Marty actually had less nightmares, no real bad one, and no major panic attack. Things are really getting better, _for now_, Callen reminds himself. Baby steps.

"Well, in the last single session I had with Marty we discussed something that I wanna tell you, too," Nate begins, "I'll be gone for a little while, for a mission."

"What?!" Callen brings out.

"Well, it's urgent, and Marty and I talked about this extensively. He is progressing very well now. In the first phase we had sessions now almost every day, but the goal is that we only do it on occasion in the future, so we have to think about reducing the number of sessions anyways. And Marty expressed the wish to try it less often also, even before I mentioned my next mission."

Callen turns to him with a roll of his eyes, "You're just trying to get around it."

"No, I gave it some thought and... this feels like therapy to me, which it _is_ of course, but... if it's no longer every single day... it'd feel _less_ like therapy to me," Marty explains in all honesty. He knows that he is not "healed", Marty knows he won't ever be. Nate gave him that talk just the way he gave it G, or so the psychologist told him, but Marty also figured that he wants more. More normalcy. More... _life._ And that only works if he gets away from the state where he is a _patient._ He wants to be free, and that includes, in the future, to be free of sessions and the rooms where those are held.

"And Marty has a point. We want you to return to normalcy. Up until now, I'm still serving as the mediator between you two, so that you can communicate your fears and feelings. However, our goal is that I'm no longer needed for you two to negotiate that. So, this might be a good opportunity to see if you two manage to communicate even without me as a buffer. If not, we simply increase the sessions again. It's no must, but it's at least worth the try, so I believe," Nate explains.

"But... what if we have like... an acute situation?" Callen grimaces worriedly. After all, it served as a great relief to know that Nate could be over at his apartment in less than ten minutes.

"Marty has my beeper number, my phone number, and he's supposed to e-mail me every two days," Nate replies. Marty shrugs. He is not too pleased about that himself, but if that means a bit more freedom, Marty will surely try... and even write some stupid e-mails.

"Of course I will most likely not be able to come if there is an immediate situation. But for that you get a list of psychologists I have absolute trust in," Nate goes on.

"And you would actually talk to someone else, like... a stranger?" Callen argues as he turns to Marty. He knows how much of a fight it was for the teenager to open up to Nate. The teenager is actually quite picky.

"No, but I met two of them, they are funny," Marty shrugs, flashing a curt smile.

"What? You met them already?" Callen blinks at the teenager, then at the psychologist, "Why wasn't I informed about that?"

"I wanted to make sure Marty is okay with it before I talk to you in the group session. I wanted to make sure he doesn't feel pressured because of you or your opinion. It was supposed to be _his_ decision. If Marty had expressed any insecurities, I would have come up with a different plan, but Marty seems actually pretty enthusiastic himself. And I have good faith in him, in the both of you," Nate goes on.

"Really?" Callen questions. He actually thought that Nate would make them go to daily session for a way longer time. The talk about how Marty is maybe okay but not fine is still vivid in G's memory after all.

"Yes. As I already told Marty, another goal is to boost his self-confidence. And for that he has to become more independent. We do that by giving him and you chance to manage that, figure it out, in small steps, but... that's eventually what we are heading for," Nate tells the agent.

"Well, if you think you're fine with it, then I'm fine with it, too," Callen grimaces, "I guess."

"You'll be okay. Don't be afraid of moving out of the comfort zone, Callen. Both of you have to allow development to happen. That is what brings both of you forward. And I assure you, this is not without safety net, Callen. Marty knows what to do, he has his techniques, he's talked to those psychologists and will let them help if the situation is really tough. You just keep up what we started with, and you should be okay. And if things get really rough, I'll be there as soon as I can to help," Nate assures, "and I won't be gone for longer than two weeks anyways."

"Well, then I guess that's what's gonna come, huh?" Callen grimaces, "When are you gonna leave?"

"Tomorrow morning," Nate nods, "unless you need more time. Then I can also take a later flight."

"I think we should be okay," Callen smirks, though a bit uneasily.

* * *

The next day, all are saying their goodbyes to Nate as he is taking off for his mission.

"And you make sure that you keep out of trouble," Kensi tells him as she hugs the psychologist, "We need you back in one piece."

"I'll surely try," Nate pats her on the back as both let go. Sam is up next for a typical shake-of-hands-leading-to-a-bro-hug, "If you don't come back fine, I will make sure you'll be even worse once you come back, understood?"

"Fully," Nate smirks, though he actually seems intimidated... but... that's just Sam's charm.

"Where is Hetty?" Kensi frowns. Nate gives it a shrug, "We already talked before. She has to set some things straight, bureaucratic duties, you know how it goes."

"I don't envy her for that, that's for sure," Kensi grimaces. She in a bureaucratic position? Not going to happen any time soon if she can help it. Kensi just needs the action.

"Okay, Marty? You just keep in mind what we talked about, yeah? And I mean it with the e-mails," Nate warns him. Callen pats Marty on the back as he says, "I'll make sure he does."

"If you start to correct my grammar mistakes, you two are warned that I will start writing spam mails, at the both of you, with weird pictures and everything," Marty warns them. The two man smirk.

"I will just kindly remind you to write them," Callen insists, but Marty rolls his eyes, "You'll stand behind me as I write them. We both know that."

"Anyways, you keep up with the program. Remember your relaxation techniques. Callen has the numbers of the psychologists you talked to, as do you. Don't hesitate to call them or me. I might just take a bit longer to answer the call," Nate winks at him.

"Wonder how you're gonna receive my e-mails anyways. I don't know much about computers or such technical things in general, but I doubt that they have WLAN hotspots in the desert," Marty argues.

"We have some amazing desert-proof equipment," Nate smirks, "but that's classified."

"Sure," Marty makes a face. Callen chooses that moment to copy Sam's goodbye-gesture, "But it's as they say, make sure you come back okay. We'd like to keep you around."

"And I wanna keep around, too," Nate winks at him, before he moves a little closer as both still shake hands, "You and Marty will be okay, don't worry."

Callen smirks at him with appreciation. He knows that Nate isn't lying to him, so... yeah, it's looking good.

"Alright, then I should head out, I'll see you guys soon again," Nate waves as he grabs his bag. He straightens up and then makes his way outside.

"So, G, think you handle without your psychologist of your confidence?" Sam smirks.

"No, we'll just hide underneath the tables till he's back, won't we, Marty?" Callen winks at the teenager, who joins, "Sure as hell!"

Okay, truth told, G is a bit uncertain, and so is Marty, but... they have to take steps forward, not tread water. And that only works if they take... little risks. That is such a risk, or so both figure.

They should be okay... _right?_

TBC


	19. Waiting Rooms & Fears

Author's Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing, you just amaze me with the nice feedback. You guys are awesome!  
I hope you'll like this chapter.

*Spoiler*-warning (skip if you want to surprise yourself):

Contains hurt!G *gasp*

Read, review, and enjoy ;)

* * *

A week has passed since Nate left. Callen was actually nervous at first, to deal with Marty and his issues, but... they work through it, together. Marty has his panic attacks and nightmares, still, but not as intense as they were couple of days back. And they didn't increase or intensify since the psychologist is gone, which is definitely a good sign. Marty is in e-mail contact with Nate, and even though he complains here and there, the teenager actually does what he was told.

Currently, Callen, Sam, and Kensi are working a case. They are supposed to stop a group of illegal missile shippers. Interrogation revealed that the group wants to exchange secret missile codes in one of the plazas.

"How is it looking over at your position?" Kensi asks over the comm. She is in the car for when the shippers want to make a car chase, and to coordinate the SWAT once the moment comes. Sam is "selling" drinks while Callen is enacting the typical tourist with camera roaming around the plaza.

"Don't see them yet," Sam answers, "Anything on your position, G?"

"Nope, nothing," Callen shrugs, taking another picture, "is weird that they are late, though."

"Maybe traffic jam?" Kensi jokes.

"Or they didn't find the plaza," Sam suggests with a smirk.

"Or the car broke down," Kensi adds another time.

"Eric? Anything on the security cameras yet?" Callen asks, stopping the others from making up theories, something they actually lie to do for some reason.

"They come down from the highway," Eric tells them, "... they actually took the wrong exit."

"Ha, knew it!" Sam snickers.

"Well, they are not from here, then," Kensi shrugs.

"Okay, guys, remember. We don't want a riot here, so we move in fast, we move out in silence," Callen reminds the two. A few minutes later, Nell speaks up, "Okay, they are coming, guys."

"Copy that," Kensi nods as she sees the two cars parking in the parking lot, "Sam? They are moving to your position."

"Copy that," Sam approves a few moments later when the men start to make their way to the plaza, "the buyers have two suitcases. I can't see weapons yet."

"Okay, Sam, make sure you stay in close periphery, but don't draw attention to yourself. We only move once they exchange is over," Callen orders. Sam does as he is told. Callen also makes his way over to the group, busying himself with "taking pictures".

"Okay. Eric? Is the SWAT in place?" Callen asks over the comm.

"Yep," Eric approves quickly.

"And they are ready to go in," Kensi adds.

"Sam? On my mark, you take on the guy with the suitcases after the switch. I'll take the one he's got them from. SWAT will move out to get the others if needed," Callen instructs. He observes until the men exchange the suitcases, then gives the sign, "Go."

Sam and Callen quickly move forward.

"Sir, you wanna buy some soda? We have sale today, everything for half prize," Sam smirks at his target. The man looks visibly irritated, "Leave me alone."

"Sir, hey, it's the best soda in L.A.," Sam insists. Callen, meanwhile, got to his target. He turns his back to him slightly and then "bumps" into the man.

"Oh, excuse me, Sir!" he cries out theatrically. "Just stay away from me!" the man curses. Callen flashes a sheepish smile, "I'm so, so, so sorry, really... Federal agents, you're under arrest."

He holds the gun into the man's back to make sure he doesn't slip away. Seeing his buyer getting caught, Sam's man wants to make a run for it, but Sam already holds him at gunpoint, "You really should've taken the soda."

The two start to cuff the men.

"What about the rest?" Callen asks over the comm.

"They were stupid enough to run back to the parking lot... and I'm just _such_ a lousy _parker_," Kensi smirks, "SWAT and I are taking care of them."

"Okay, we join you in a bit, good work, everyone," Callen nods. This was actually perfectly smooth. No one got the chance to run, no one had to run, the people are still mostly unaware... this can be cashed as a success. Callen grabs the captive by the cuffs and yanks him over to Sam, who is doing the same with his. Either agent takes a suitcase, and then they head back to the car.

"I love it when a plan comes together," Sam snickers as they escort the two culprits to the cars.

"Hey, it was _my_ plan," Callen argues.

"I still love it when even one of your stupid plans works for once," Sam retorts.

"Are you my B.A. Baracus, then?" Callen huffs.

"You as Hannibal, nah," Sam shakes his head.

"What? I make the great plans," Callen argues with a smile.

"Hetty's Hannibal, and you can't be Murdock," Sam grimaces, then both speak at the same time, "coz that's Eric for sure."

"That makes me Face. I always knew you found me handsome," Callen snickers.

"Hey, let the kid decide. He knows the show best, coz Kensi made him watch it," Sam argues.

"We'll ask him," Callen agrees. Both chuckle, but suddenly a loud noise erupts their ears. Neither agent can turn in time to see the explosion from the building to their right. They are pushed to the ground along with their captives as the shockwave hammers above their heads. After a few seconds, the explosion subsides and there is just fire. Sam and Callen look around bedazzled as they straighten back up.

"G? You alright?" Sam asks, coughing lightly. Callen nods, "Yeah. You?"

"I'm good," Sam approves, pulling his captive back up with him, as does Callen.

"Guys, what the hell was that?" Kensi asks over the comm, already busily handling her captive over to one of the SWAT and walking towards the explosion.

"I have no clue," Callen grimaces, but then turns to his captive, "why did you guys do that? It's too late anyways, you morons."

The man suddenly struggles against his grip again. Callen takes hold of his right lower arm. Sam watches the situation, but then realizes that the guy moved out of one cuff and something silvery flashes out of the sleeve.

"G! Knife!" Sam yells out, already dashing forward, but his captive, in turn, is purposely slowing him down. Callen turns his head to the captive's hand, but it's already too late. The man rams the blade beneath the line of the vest, right into his stomach. Callen gasps as the white-hot pain starts to claim him, but still he can hear the man mutter, "It's really too late, just for you." He pulls the dagger back out and starts to make a run for it, but Sam already tackles the man to the ground as he yells, "Agent down! Agent down! We need an ambulance here, now!"

Sam punches the bastard in the side of the head so that he's instantly out of it, gets up, and runs over to his partner.

"G? G! Hey, you gotta stay with me, man, G!" Sam cries out. Callen writhes in pain on the ground, holding his hand over the wound. Sam helps apply pressure, but carries on, "Don't you dare die on me, hear that? G! G!"

That is when Kensi along with the paramedics arrive. The EMT's immediately start to work on Callen. Sam lets go and gives them space to help his partner.

"Oh my God," Kensi brings out, her eyes dancing between the bastards being taken by the SWAT and G as he is getting treated. Sam just stares ahead, feeling the blood on his hands drying, his partner's blood. And by the Lord above, he swore to never feel that again. That mission was a success already... just _what the hell_ happened?!

Meanwhile, in the Ops, Hetty, Eric, and Nell are staring at the screens, having observed the hideous attack. "What the hell...," Eric brings out, still not believing it. The case was over. They should be celebrating, and not... _this._ That just can't be.

Suddenly there is the sound of the door opening. The three turn around to see Marty with a three cups of coffee and one with tea. "Hey, I thought I'd be so nice to bring you guys something to drink to...," Marty wants to say cheerfully, but then his eyes fall on the screen... and thus on his brother... bleeding... on the ground... stabbed... and he simply drops the cups, the brown liquid creeping over the ground.

"G?" he brings out. The three adults glance at the teenager with horror.

Meanwhile, Callen is put on a stretcher and then quickly moved to the ambulance.

"C'mon, we're driving after him," Kensi says, still glancing ahead, but feeling the urge to do something, "_I_ drive."

Sam nods silently as both hastily make their way to the car. Kensi holds out a towel to Sam, who takes it gratefully to wipe off the blood.

"Shit," both exclaim simultaneously as Kensi starts the engine and starts to speed after the ambulance. Once in the hospital, Callen is immediately wheeled into the ICU. Sam and Kensi are bound to stop by the doors as they fall shut. That is when all energy leaves the two and dread takes over.

"Fuck," Kensi gasps, grabbing her left shoulder with her right hand.

"Yeah, fuck," Sam nods, letting out a shaky breath.

"How could this happen, Sam?" Kensi asks.

"... I saw it too late," Sam murmurs. He saw it too late. He should have caught it sooner. Callen couldn't see it from his angle, but he could. Yet, he was too busy staring at the damn explosion.

"Sam, it wasn't your fault," Kensi assures him, "I wouldn't have caught it either."

There is a longer pause until Kensi speaks up again, "Why do you wear a Kevlar vest if it doesn't protect you from this, huh?"

Sam explains, "The guy purposely aimed at the area below the belly button. The Kevlar vests don't reach that deep to allow most mobility. That guy knew where to hit."

This was planned... and they failed to see it. _Damn,_ that's not supposed to happen.

"Fuck," Kensi repeats, missing vocabulary to describe this in a more subtle way. However, before they can contemplate any further why it happened or how it came to it, a very distressed blond teenager comes through the entrance along with Hetty.

"Oh shoot," Sam curses as he catches sight of Marty. Kensi almost jumps in shock. They almost forgot about the kid in their worry over Callen, but... _oh, goodness_! Marty runs up to them as he catches sight of the two agents standing near the door leading to the ICU. "Where's G?" he stammers, eyes wide.

"They brought him into surgery right away. He is in good hands, kiddo," Sam assures him quickly. Marty looks at him rather skeptically, though. Sadly, the kid is too smart to buy the easy reassurances, which is why Sam tries another time, "It wasn't halfway as bad as it could have been, right, Kensi?"

"Your brother's gonna be fine. He always is," Kensi nods.

"He will die, won't he?" Marty bites his lower lip, fists clenching. That's what always happens. Whatever he loves... it is taken from him. And people always say it's gonna be fine... though it's not and won't ever be.

"No, no, no," Kensi waves her hands in the air furiously, but then attempts to joke "You know G Callen. That guy doesn't die. He's a Mean Machine."

However, that is when tears just spring to Marty's eyes and he starts to cry bitterly. Neither one saw him crying like this yet. Marty rams the heels of his hands against his eyes, needing the pressure to ground himself. The sobs just won't cease, though. His chest just heaves and his airways constrict painfully. Kensi, not knowing what else to do, simply pulls Marty into an embrace, leaning her cheek on the top of his head, rocking him from left to right with her as she whispers, "You'll see, he'll be fine. He always is. Everything's gonna be okay. Shh. Is okay."

At this point, she is glad that Marty allows the body contact. Kensi doesn't know how to handle such situations professionally, not when it's personal, so she does the simplest thing: embrace, hold on. Yet, at the same time, damn, she could cry now, too, not only for Callen's sake, but for Marty's also. The kid is obviously rock bottom thanks to this, if he even allows her to touch him that closely. Yeah, this situation is really bad.

Sam turns to Hetty, turning his back on Marty and Kensi so that Marty won't even have a chance to read his lips, "Do we have anything new yet?"

Someone set the bomb as a distraction, that much is for sure. And Sam wants to get that person by the balls. However, Hetty shakes her head sadly, "Nothing much that is usable. Mr. Beale and Ms. Jones are eagerly working on the problem."

"It came outta nothing," Sam admits.

"Which is why we have any intention to make sure this doesn't happen again," Hetty declares resolutely.

"It surely won't...," Sam grimaces, "... you really think is good to have him here yet?"

"Mr. Deeks is his Mr. Callen's relative, _of course_ he is supposed to be here, Mr. Hanna," Hetty argues sternly.

"Yeah, no, I know, is just... well, look at him," Sam grimaces sympathetically.

"... he saw it on camera," Hetty admits. Callen stares at her, _"What?!"_

"He wanted to bring beverages after the case was over, but walked in as... well...," Hetty grimaces.

"So he saw his brother get stabbed, now that's shit. Nate will be _delighted _about the new trauma added to the list... speaking of Nate, is he gonna come soon?" Sam asks.

"Afraid not so, Mr. Hanna. Ms. Jones already contacted him, but even if Mr. Getz took off at this moment, he won't make it until two days later," Hetty replies.

"The other therapists?" Sam suggests next.

"I already called them, but Mr. Deeks strongly refused to talk to them, _until_ he has seen his brother," Hetty explains. She asked him several times on the ride to the hospital, but Marty explained, with surprising clarity, that he won't and can't speak to any of them before he's seen his brother. He just has to be sure he's okay before he can "deal" with whatever trauma he is having thanks to this.

"And you think that's good?" Sam questions.

"Mr. Deeks could suffer from greater panic, but he is not. He is confused, shocked, but... so Mr. Callen informed me, not screaming, not thrashing, not hiding in the corners, or any of the symptoms indicating a breakdown. Mr. Deeks is simply a teenager fearing for his brother's life. And I think we'd do better encouraging him to keep up that level of stress than make him fuss even more by forcing him to talk to someone else," Hetty explains calmly.

"Yeah, I know... it's just... the kid really didn't need that on tops, and then without proper guidance. G knows how to deal with him for the most part, but we others are still getting acquainted. And look at this, him crying like that... this is disaster," Sam says with a wince.

"It is," Hetty nods. There is no way to deny that.

"This never should've happened," Sam grimaces, and Hetty can only agree, "Never."

Kensi, meanwhile, let go to the point that she has both hands on his shoulders, realizing that Marty's discomfort was increasing. He is no longer sobbing, but... still so sad that it breaks her heart all over again.

"Hey, why don't we sit down for a bit, huh?" Kensi offers in a soft voice. Marty suddenly pulls away from her touch, shaking his head vehemently.

"This will take some time, trust me, kiddo," Kensi argues, but Marty replies, "No, I... I'm standing. No, I can't sit. Sitting's not good. Gotta stand."

Kensi holds up her hands in surrender, "Okay, hey, is fine, if you wanna stand, you stand."

And that is when the boy starts pacing. Kensi shoots a grimace at Hetty and Sam, who can only shrug. Only God knows what must be going through Marty's head now. Callen grew to be the most important part of his life, his hope, his everything – and now to be on the verge of losing it, those are such existential fears that it is impossible to grasp this kind of anxiety.

Time seems to stretch like bubble gum. Everything becomes a blur. After some time, Sam, Kensi and Hetty sit down in the uncomfortable orange plastic chairs. Marty, after he got over the pacing after thirty minutes, is now rigidly standing in one spot, only moving if he feels that he is in someone's way. His eyes fix on the doors he knows his brother is behind, and his mind some place, far, far away.

"Okay, ugh, I need some caffeine to pull through the day... Sam, you too?" Kensi asks, clapping her thighs.

"Yeah, thanks," Sam nods.

"Hetty, tea?" Kensi offers. The petite woman smiles at her wearily, "Thank you, dear."

Kensi gets up and walks over to Marty and asks in a soft voice, "Marty? I'm getting us something to drink. What would you like? Maybe some lemonade or a coffee? Anything you like?"

Marty just keeps on staring at the door, though, unable to meet her eyes, "... I don't need anything... thanks."

"Maybe for later?" Kensi bargains, but Marty just shakes his head. His mind is working on autopilot at this moment. And autopilot knows only one order: G.

Kensi grimaces as she straightens back up an makes the way to the cafeteria to get the drinks. Even if Marty refused, she buys a bottle of Gatorade and some sugary treats anyway. The Junior Agent is still afraid that he might fall over from shock and that is the last thing they need. Plus, if she is nervous, Kensi is craving for sugar, _and hell_, if she ain't nervous now!

Kensi makes her way back into the waiting room, finding nothing changed. Marty still stands in the same spot she left him in. The only thing that does change is the level of discomfort and concern growing on both Sam's and Hetty's faces because they can see that Marty is struggling so much.

"Okay, coffee for you, tea for you," Kensi tries to act cheerful, but it just won't come out right.

"Thank you," both nod, taking the drinks from her. Kensi searches Marty's eyes again. Though he doesn't look at her, she knows he is listening, "Marty? I brought you a Gatorade for later. I'll put in in my bag, okay? You can just grab it if you want it. And I also have some sweets?"

"Thanks. No thanks," Marty brings out hoarsely.

"Okay, just saying, buddy," Kensi nods as she settles back down and all four feel like they are swallowed by darkness once again.

Time passes by, again, with Marty standing there like a pillar, as though only standing held him upright, still. The three watch him with growing discomfort. Eventually, Sam is the one giving in first, fed up with this, "Okay, enough's enough."

Kensi holds him back by the hem of his shirt with a warning tone, "Sam..."

"Just trying something out," Sam argues and pulls away to walk over to Marty and crouches in front of the young man to be eye-to-eye with him before he speaks, "Marty, can you focus on me for just a second?"

"What? Yeah, sorry, I just...," Marty bites his lower lip with a sheepish expression, but Sam quickly reassures him, "I know, it's okay. You are scared. I'm scared, too."

Marty actually manages to make a face.

"I am," Sam repeats, with more severity.

"... he might die, right?" Marty asks tentatively.

"Yeah, he might," Sam admits. It _is_ possible. And denying that would be a lie. The kid doesn't need more lies, really, or so Sam figures.

"He might die," Marty exhales. Now it's real. They said it. It's real. And that sucks. That's not how Marty had pictured his new kind of reality. That is _definitely_ not what he had pictured for his future.

Sam: "But because he _might_ die doesn't mean that he _will_, you see that, right?" Sam argues. Marty contemplates for a few moments, but then nods, "... yeah."

Rationally, Marty knows that there are chances G will pull through, but even one percent speaking against him... Marty just can't stop thinking about it. How high were the chances that he'd find his half-brother over some murder case he was involved in? Vanishingly low. Still, it happened. So, even if chances were actually low that G might die... it may still happen, just as they still happened to be brothers. Fortune is such a bitch.

"I know you are scared, Marty. It's natural," Sam assures him, "but with standing here and staring at the door, you won't make a difference. You might just as well sit down with us, drink something, eat something, keep your strengths up for when he wakes up."

"_If_ he wakes up," Marty corrects him.

"_Once_ he wakes up. We have to stay optimistic," Sam insists.

"_Optimistic?_ My brother was just stabbed for no reason. How could I be optimistic about that?" Marty can't help but snort.

"I mean to be optimistic about his recovery," Sam argues.

"I've been there before. You can be optimistic all you want... in the end... reality comes and slaps you in the face, no matter the attitude," Marty argues. In the beginning of his time in the streets, he, too, was actually feeling confident and optimistic, but that all changed once hunger and thirst came. Then every fiber of enthusiasm just fades away into nothingness it came from.

"Huh?" Sam blinks at him.

"Not talking about it," Marty grits his teeth, but Sam quickly agrees, "Okay."

"He shouldn't die. He doesn't deserve that. G's a good person," Marty says, his lower lip quivering. His brother is about the most amazing person he's met... and to other people, he still saves the country. Doesn't that count to some degree?

"I know," Sam sighs.

"I... don't want him to die," Marty admits.

"No one wants him to," Sam nods.

"The guy who stabbed him wanted him dead," Marty argues.

"And that was a mean evil bastard," Sam grits his teeth.

"... what if this is the last time I see him... saw him alive?" Marty asks, his voice no more than a whisper. What if he waved his hand at G as he left for the case the last time? Had cereal for breakfast the last time? Cracked a joke? Made a comment? Sat down next to him? Said "good morning"?

"Hey, now stop thinking like this, huh?" Sam grimaces.

"I can't," Marty stammers. How do you stop thinking about these things when your brother is next door, fighting for dear life?

"I know it's hard," Sam grimaces sympathetically.

"I can't," Marty grits his teeth.

"You'll be fine, the both of you, trust me. You pulled through worse already," Sam assures him another time, "Okay, so another time. How 'bout you take a seat, huh? Your legs are already shaking, kid."

Marty glances at him for only a split second, but suddenly the teenager just plops down on the ground and sits down cross-legged. Sam makes a face, "... I thought you might wanna use one of the chairs..."

Marty just stakes his head, bleakly staring at the door. Sam tries to get into eye contact with him another time, but sees that there is no point, which is why he simply sits back down. Kensi leans over to him, "Great achievement, Big Guy."

"He's sitting now," Sam insists. Kensi just rolls her eyes, "Whatever."

Hours pass by, each minute lapsing into agonizing micro years of their own. Marty remains in his spot, sitting on the ground, staring ahead. Kensi, to comfort him, gets up and takes a seat next to him, drawing her knees up to her chin, glancing over to the teenager, "You know, I like that, too. Sitting on the ground and all. Has something... mediating-y."

He licks his lips but otherwise remains silent.

"Do you want us to call up Nate's friends, or you want us to try to get a hold on Nate another time?" Kensi offers in a soft voice.

"No... not until I've seen G," Marty shakes his head. He wouldn't talk to them anyways, _that_ he knows. Marty could have talked to them about his fears and even panic attacks, no problem there, but _this?_ He can hardly talk about it to Kensi, and Kensi he trusts. How do you talk about the possibility of your brother, your _world,_ dying? Even a psychologist won't be able to help him with that at this moment, so Marty knows.

"Okay," Kensi nods. He should make the calls after all. Even though he is sitting on the ground, he is not exactly in panic. So it's as Hetty and Sam said: they should just let Marty figure himself out. He can talk to psychologists later, too. Kensi tries another time to assure him, taking a different approach, "G told you about the time he got shot, right?"

Marty nods absently. Kensi carries on in a soft voice, "It was far worse than this, really. And he pulled through just fine."

"... there once was a plane crash in 1972. A flight attendant was blown out the exit and flew 33,330 feet to the ground," Marty mumbles, causing Kensi to frown, since she didn't expect that as a comment, "I really have to tell Callen to make you stop watching those weird documentaries late at night."

"She survived," Marty says.

"Wow, okay! Well, if that is so, you see that Callen has best chances. If she can survive a plane crash, then he can survive this here also," Kensi argues, but Marty shakes his head as he carries on, "And then there was this one guy who fell off a stool."

"Survived, too, I see."

"He died. Bleeding on the brain. Took days. No one's thought it was life-threatening or even dangerous. He had just fallen off a stool. Few days later, he was dead," Marty says, "People die for far more trivial things than gunshot wounds. Might be that this stab wound is not as bad as were the multiple gunshot wounds he got... but that doesn't mean G cannot die from this here. If a guy can die from falling off a chair, so can G from the stab wound."

"G's one bullhead. I bet if he ever saw the light, he'd start to interrogate it or shoot it in the face and then everyone would just be too annoyed and send him back," Kensi offers. Marty manages a tired smirk before focusing on the door again.

"We're gonna be okay," Kensi assures him.

They stay in silence as suddenly the door opens and a man in scrubs comes in.

"For Mr. G Callen?" the doctor calls out. Hetty says, "That would be us."

Marty is instantly on his feet, but much to their surprise, he remains in his spot. Kensi gets up, too, pats him on the back and pushes him towards the doctor ever so gently.

"How is Mr. Callen?" Hetty asks the physician, but then Marty breaks out, "Is he dead?!"

"No, he is alive. He will pull through," the doctor assures quickly. Marty almost sags together at those news. Kensi quickly supports him by the shoulders to hold him upright and murmurs, "Easy."

"Are you alright, young man?" the doctor asks hastily, but Kensi offers, "It's his big brother. He's just overtaken that he's fine."

"I see," the doctor nods.

"There was so much blood," Marty mumbles to himself, the news still traveling to his brain to catch up with reality.

"In fact your brother lost a lot of blood, but we were able to compensate by providing him with blood transfusions and fluids," the doctor assures him.

"And the stab wound? How bad is it? Internal damage?" Sam asks.

"Against all odds, the damage of the organs was minimal and is now under control," the doctor says. Sam growls to himself, "Lucky bastard."

Only G Callen gets shot multiple times and is fine... and gets stabbed and is fine.

"Really, the stab wound went in about three inches. Normally, there would be greater damage. Yet, by crunching together, he achieved one thing: namely that his organs were pushed together and out of harm's way for the most part," the doctor explains.

"So he'll be fine," Kensi translates, glad that Callen, even if he couldn't prevent the attack... dodged the bullet, or knife.

"We are positive that he will be fine soon again. We have him on antibiotics to make sure he doesn't suffer from infection. We are monitoring his organs to be sure that there isn't new bleeding, but we are really confident there won't, if he doesn't overexert himself. He will be in pain in a while, but other than that... he will pull through," the doctor smiles.

"Thank you, Doctor," Hetty nods.

"That's my job," the physician grins.

"Can we see him?" Sam asks the one-million-dollar-question. The doctor explains, "He is moved to a room as we speak. One of the nurses will show you the way. He will be out of it for a while longer – and once he wakes up, he will be pretty exhausted, so don't overdo it, make it easy for him. This was a big surgery after all."

"Alright," Sam nods, relief washing over him. His partner is fine. Marty didn't lose his brother... _damn!_

"Are there any further questions?" the doctor asks.

"I think that's all from our side," Hetty smirks.

"Good," the physician smiles. He glances at Marty another time, but then the teenager actually speaks up, "Th... thanks for saving my brother."

The doctor claps him on the shoulder once, offering a soft smirk, "You are very welcome. Okay, I have to head my ways. I'll see you later to check on him."

"Thank you, Doc," Kensi nods. With that the doctor walks off.

"Heard that, Marty? He's gonna be just fine. Told you," Kensi offers a soft smile, but then... Marty starts to cry again. Kensi rubs his shoulder hastily, "Aw, hey, I didn't mean it with the whole 'I told you so'. No need to cry."

He turns around to bury his head in her midsection. Kensi simply holds on to him again. If Marty seeks body contact, it means he really, really needs it. And Kensi won't deny him.

"I will go back to the Ops now and tell Miss Jones and Mr. Beale. You keep me updated, yes?" Hetty speaks up, and Sam nods, "Sure."

"Good," the petite woman nods. With that she disappears. She has work to do.

Little time later, the nurse appears and escorts them to G's room. They thank the young woman before attempting to go inside, but much to their surprise, once again, Marty stays outside. Sam turns to him with a frown, "Marty? We can go in, now, you know?"

"I know," Marty nods nervously."

"Don't you wanna? Hey, you can't hurt him or so. It's really fine," Kensi assures him.

"No. I... I gotta... You can go in, but... but just...," Marty shakes his head, glancing at the window through which he can glance at his older brother.

"Hey, is okay, if you feel more comfortable staying here, then that is what you do. No shame in it, alright?" Kensi assures him quickly, "You want one of us to stay here with you?"

"No, actually... I just wanna...," Marty grimaces. He wants to be alone. He has to... breathe.

"Alright, then Sam and I go in. But the moment you feel like it, you can just join, yeah?" Kensi offers, figuring that... Marty is boss. If he doesn't want to go in yet, then he doesn't want. And they shouldn't force him. Marty nods with appreciation, glad that the guys understand him at least enough to see that he needs more time. Kensi and Sam grimace at each other before walking inside themselves.

"Hey, partner," Sam speaks in a hushed voice as he walks up to the bed.

"He's gonna get it from you, won't he?" Kensi smirks. Sam is feared for his "I love you and thus I kick your ass" speeches.

"Sure as hell," Sam grins back. Kensi smirks absently, patting G's hand, "And don't you dare scare us like that another time or else you will suffer _my_ rage, Mr. Callen."

"Listen to the Lady, G," Sam smirks, though he means it.

And so they wait.


	20. Friends Can Set Chaos Straight

Author's Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Some of you have asked about Marty not going to school, and thanks for pointing that out. But I assure you, I didn't leave that out (I _know_ that children have to go to school, though they don't always like it). I have an entire chapter dedicated to the issue, so I hope you forgive me that I let Marty hang around for now. But I decided to put the therapy arc and now Callen getting stabbed before this, because it kind of builds on Marty having overcome some of his problems already. As for legal issues... Marty _had_ this gunshot wound before, and he _was_ extremely traumatized, so I think that authorities would actually allow him some time to get at least settled... if not, we still have Hetty. Hetty makes _anything_ happen.

I hope I manage to get a bit of Kensi/Sam/Callen chemistry in this chapter, in the hope I actually capture some of the magic. I know this has been extremely Marty/Callen-centric, but... to my defense, their relationship had to come into focus first, at least in my opinion. Though there will be Marty/Callen also, of course ;)

This might be OOC, though I hope that I make it clear why Callen acts the way he does... as for the others, I added the OOC warning in the summary, so... forgive me if I didn't capture their characters the way you may want it or the way it is on the show, it's AU. I'm still a novice, meep!

Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this.  
You know the drill: read, review, enjoy ;)

* * *

A few hours later, Sam and Kensi are still keeping watch over their team leader. Marty remained outside, though. The two agents tried their best to convince him, but the teen just shook them off each time they tried. Marty wants to stay where he is.

"We have to get those people," Sam mutters bitterly. Kensi glances at him, "Sam, it was not your fault, please, remember that. No one saw it coming."

"Right, we didn't see it coming. Just as I didn't see it coming when he got shot," Sam grumbles. He almost lost his partner back then, and now again. G is his best friend. He can't afford to lose him. This can't be happening.

"Sam. There was a friggin' explosion. If anything, I should've instructed the SWAT to come get the guys from you," Kensi argues.

"You had to coordinate the transport of the other men," Sam argues.

"... maybe we should just agree that this guy is at fault...," Kensi exhales, "and that he's gonna get his ass kicked, from all of us."

"Yeah, might be," Sam nods. He can't help but smirk. Self-blame won't get them anywhere, that much is for sure.

"I hope Nell and Eric find us the info we need. There is a bigger catch to this," Kensi sighs.

"Well, Hetty will move heaven and earth to throw the people responsible into prison," Sam agrees, then both add, "if not worse."

"It's just so weird... I really thought this case was over. Why that explosion?" Kensi exhales.

"We won't figure it out at this moment," Sam argues. He would love to chase down all those people, but... his place is here, with Kensi, and Marty. He owes his partner that much.

"Yeah, but heads will roll, that's for sure," Kensi grimaces. She knows that Sam and Callen are closer than she is to either one of them, but still, she considers those guys her family. The hell, she sees her family less often than them, so who is she kidding? When one of them is hurt, it breaks her heart - and she wants to break bones in turn.

"Definitely," Sam nods. That plan is set into stone.

Suddenly, G starts to stir.

"I think he's waking up," Sam smirks, feeling utterly relieved.

"Callen? You with us?" Kensi asks tentatively, tapping the back of his hand. G pries his eyes open sluggishly, but has to squint against the harsh light. His steel-blue eyes are unfocused and glassy. Callen tries to regain focus, but odd shapes and shadows are dancing in front of his eyes, making the task incredibly difficult. He grimaces groggily at the rest of his team, still trying to process and assess the situation.

He croaks, "Hey."

"Hey," both smile with relief. Kensi grins, "Now look who's back under the living."

"I think barely so," Sam huffs. They are just so glad. Callen survived, he is awake... nothing else matters.

"Is good to have you back, partner," Sam says, clapping him on the shoulder lightly. And it really is.

"Thanks," Callen replies. He groans as he readjusts himself on the bed.

"You okay, G?" Sam asks worriedly, but Callen answers, "Yeah, yeah, just a bit drowsy from the morphine, I guess."

"You scared the living crap outta me," Kensi pouts, "... don't you dare do that ever again."

"Yeah, it can only be blamed on your goddamn luck that you get a huge knife plunged in your stomach, just to have nothing at all – other than the stab wound itself," Sam snorts. G Callen is a walking survival miracle, really.

"Funny I don't feel as lucky," Callen grimaces. Nope, luck wasn't what saved him. Or else he wouldn't like in hospital bed, right?

"Trust me: You are," Sam argues.

"Where's Marty?" Callen asks, worry instantly rising. Oh God, Marty!

The other two grimace as their eyes silently wander off to the window where the teenager is still standing outside, staring.

"Why isn't he comin' in?" Callen asks with a grimace, "Is he mad at me?"

Kensi replies, "Well, it scared the living crap outta me to see you get stabbed... it scared heaven, earth and hell outta the kid to see you hurt. He was _very..._ distressed."

"Stood in the waiting room for two hours before I got him to sit... for some reason he would only sit on the ground once he did, though," Sam adds. Callen nods knowingly, "He does that when he's upset. It's coz he's used to sitting on the ground that much when he was in the ring, at least I suppose it is."

"Well, he hasn't slept, eaten or drunken anything either. I tried to get him into it, but...," Kensi sighs, but Callen nods knowingly, "No way, I know that."

If Marty is stressed-out, his system goes on autopilot. He focuses on one task. Everything else has to wait until later, very much like G himself. Yeah, they are really alike when it comes to these things.

"Shall I get him for you?" Sam offers. Callen offers a smirk, "I'd do it myself, but I'm still kinda hooked up here."

Sam nods before walking outside and over to Marty, who has watched the scene. Sam turns to him, "Kid? G's awake now – and he's asked for you. Dontcha wanna come in tell him hi?"

The teenager looks at him for a moment, then back to G's room, then the floor. Sam grimaces. Only God knows what the little guy is thinking. Marty suddenly turns on the heel and starts to pace, grabbing his hair painfully. Sam quickly glances over to G, who is visibly distressed at the teenager's behavior. Everyone thought that he'd be all over his big brother now, but instead... Marty is back to some place no one can reach him. Well, maybe they have to call up the psychologists after all.

Sam tries again, "G's fine, okay? He's up and awake. And he's not as badly hurt. You've heard the doctor, haven't you? G's gonna be fine."

Marty suddenly crouches on the ground, pulling at his locks another time. Sam shoots an uncertain glance over to Callen, who is visibly upset about Marty's behavior.

"Kid, you alright?" Sam asks hastily. He wants to walk over to him, but Marty holds out his hand, with outstretched index finger. "I need a moment," Marty murmurs. The ex-SEAL eases at that a bit, because it means Marty is not apathetic, he's just... _nervous_! Sam motions at Kensi to get out of the room as well. She is confused for a moment, but then comes outside also. Sam turns to her, "Just wait out here. Marty's nervous as hell as far as I can judge... so I think he needs the privacy to gather the courage to go see G."

"Ah, I see... that explains a lot," Kensi nods. Sam walks back over to the kid.

"Marty? G really wants to see you. Think you can do him the favor?" Sam tries another time. Marty gets up from his crouching position before starting to pace again. It's really hard to guess what's going through his head when he is in one of these moods. Nate told them that this has to expected – and that Marty has unique ways of dealing with stress, that they are good for as long as they are not harmful. And pacing and crouching can't really be accounted as "dangerous" or "harmful".

Marty straightens up even more before he walks up to the open door. He sucks in a few hiccupped breaths before he quickly runs inside and to Callen's bed to wrap his arms around the older man's shoulder, perfectly avoiding the stomach wound, holding on for dear life. Callen is shocked for a moment, but then steadies his grip on the teenager as he silently cries into his shoulder.

"Hey, buddy, is okay. Everything's okay. Everything's okay now. I'm here. Not going anywhere. Everything's okay now. I'm here," Callen whispers soothingly. He can only vaguely imagine how hard this was on Marty.

Outside, Kensi and Sam watch the scene in awe.

"Now look at that... Senior Agent Badass G Callen's warming up," Kensi smirks, shaking her head lightly.

"Kids will do that to you," Sam nods, arms folded over his chest. He knows that he changed when they had their first child. It's not necessarily that you become softer (he'd deny that on any occasion), but... you have a different perspective on life, a fuller one. Your world just suddenly gets so much bigger, richer - and at the same time so private that you just want to put up the fences and shut everyone out so that you have your family to yourself.

"Is just wonderful to see them like that," Kensi smiles. Now, everything seems just so imperfectly okay again... the brothers united. Fine, one is in hospital, the other is freaked, but... they are together, they are alive, they have each other. To others this may be nothing, but Kensi, Sam, and Callen long since learned just how precious life is, and the bonds you have with those people you care about. And that even someone as tough as G Callen finds his own personal peace... Kensi can't help but be happy for him.

"Yeah... some time ago... I would've taken any bet that I wouldn't ever see him like this...," Sam smirks. No, as far as his imagination allowed him, Sam saw G Callen ending up as a tragic hero, dying in service, if not on a suicide mission in a surge of heroism. However, far more importantly, Sam always pictured Callen... being alone, safe for the team. G never had family until Marty bumped into his life. For Callen, there were only really close friendships. That was family to him, but now he has someone he cares about more than anyone else in the world. And that is the difference. Even before, Callen would have sacrificed himself for either one of the team, if not some stranger also, but Marty is that certain someone Callen would choose over anyone, and that's what all parents do.

"No way. G Callen, no way," Kensi has to agree.

"Thank God I didn't bet on that one," Sam chuckles. Kensi nods frantically, "I would've lost a lot of money, that's for sure."

Inside, Callen is still trying to soothe his upset little brother by murmuring softly into his ear. He could probably go on talking about the Lakers game and what's for dinner. Not that he'd ever do that in such a situation, he's just glad to have Marty with him now.

"Hey, is okay. Is over now. Alright? I'm fine. Nothing's happened,"Callen assures him.

"I was so scared," Marty admits, his voice no more than a whisper.

"But now you don't have to be anymore, hear me?" Callen assures him again.

"You're hurt," Marty insists. Of course he has to be worried. Callen smiles at him, "That heals in no time. I'll chase down criminal scum soon again."

He studies the teenagers face, "Did you talk to Keith or Richard? Or Nate?"

Marty shakes his head, "I wanted to see you before... you know... and I didn't have a total panic attack, I mean... I was scared outta my mind, but... and is not coz I don't care or whatever, you know that I care, I mean...," Marty stammers. Callen can't help but smile, "Hey, I'm glad if you don't have a panic attack."

"Hetty's said Nate's gonna come as soon as he can," Marty sniffs, "... but if it gets bad, I'll talk to Keith or Richard, promise."

"Good," Callen nods after studying his brother. Marty actually seems okay, so, even if the situation is grave, he should grant Marty the freedom to decide for himself if he needs immediate help.

"You know... for a moment I thought you were...," Marty tries to say, but his voice leaves him. Callen pats him on the shoulder lightly, "I'm not and won't be, okay?"

Marty wipes over his eyes, "Now I'm feeling stupid... I'm making a total scene here."

Callen argues, however, "No, no, no, nothing stupid. You were upset – and I gave you one helluva scare, I know that. So there is nothing you gotta feel embarrassed for."

"I should've... I mean, I'm no kid anymore, I should get it when the doc says that you'll pull through...," Marty admits sheepishly. Really, he is acting like a baby!

"That has nothing to do with age, okay? I know this must've been hell for you...," Callen grimaces sympathetically, and Marty agrees honestly, "It was."

"And I'm sorry you had to go through that. That's the last thing we needed, let's be honest," Callen sighs. Really, only they manage to have the psychologist leave for two weeks – and screw this up because one of them decides to get stabbed. Marty didn't have a breakdown thanks to... nightmares or whatever else they discussed, _no..._ he gets it from his brother almost dying.

"... there could've been better endings, I guess," Marty agrees, managing a weak smile.

"Is it safe to come in again?" Kensi pops her head in through the open door.

"Marty?" Callen turns to the teenager, but this time he really smiles, "Yeah, yeah. Sorry."

Kensi and Sam walk up to them. The Junior Agent snakes her hands around Marty's shoulders for a gentle squeeze, "No need to be."

Callen notes with surprise that Marty allows the contact. This is actually... a success, in an odd way. Kensi winks at him knowingly, and actually with a portion of pride. Yeah, now she is part of that exclusive club also, ha!

That is the moment the doctor also joins the party, "I see you're awake."

"In fact," Callen smirks, sitting up a bit. The physician quickly makes his way over to Callen to check his stats, "How are you?"

"A bit drowsy and achy, but fine," Callen smirks. The doctor nods, "Good. Vitals look fine. You are really lucky that knife missed all major organs and only did tissue damage."

"Yeah, lucky me gets stabbed in the right place," Callen jokes with a wince. The physician argues, "Well, I think you'd do better at simply not getting stabbed at all."

"Yeah," all say simultaneously.

"Best would be if you went to rest now, Mr. Callen. Tomorrow we'll run another CAT scan to be on the safe side. There can always be tears when you move around," the doctor informs him.

"Wait. I gotta stay here?" Callen makes a face. The physician grimaces, "Of course, Mr. Callen. You were stabbed. _Stabbed_."

"I'm feeling fine," Callen insists. And that is just so typical for G Callen: only that guy wants to be released from hospital after almost dying from a stab wound.

"Callen, now don't be ridiculous," Kensi warns him.

"You heard the doc: _stabbed_ is the word," Sam agrees with the Junior Agent. No way G leaves the hospital before he's fully healed.

"But...," Callen wants to argue, but doesn't get the chance to because Kensi takes over, "Give it up already, Callen!"

"Right, no way you sign out AMA. You'll sit that out till the bitter end," Sam instructs him. Callen rolls his eyes, "You guys! I gotta..."

Kensi interrupts him another time, though, "Listen to what the doctor says, yes."

Callen wants to say something else in turn, but this time Sam cuts him off, "Dude, no way, forget about it already."

Callen's eyes wander to Marty with a worried look of concern – and that is when the other two understand why he is so resistant. Marty realizes the look as well, "I'm fine, G. If they drop me off at the apartment, I'll be okay."

"And _you_ forget about _that_ right away," Sam jumps in. Marty frowns at him, "Huh?"

"Simple as that, I'm taking you over to my place. That's the best solution," Sam declares. And it's the least he can do. He couldn't save his partner from the stab wound, but he won't let it happen that his partner's brother has to stay the night alone after such a traumatic experience, or at all!

"I'm really fine with going to the apartment," Marty insists, and he looks just like Callen. However, Sam doesn't care, "And you think G would forgive either one of us to leave you alone at the apartment for a night?"

Callen joins with a smirk, "I surely wouldn't."

"But... uhm... this is...," Marty stammers.

"We have a spare bedroom, so it's really no bother. And the girls wanted to meet you anyways," Sam offers, knowing that Marty loves being around children.

"Why's that?" Marty grimaces. What would Sam's girls want with him?

"They still can't believe that you made Uncle G cry like a baby," Sam snickers.

Kensi agrees, "Sam's right, Marty. It's for the best. I mean, I would love to take you, but I'm already camping over at Nell's place coz I had a cockroach incident and they had to spray nasty stuff everywhere."

"To me no miracle that cockroaches built their castle in that mess of yours," Sam snorts.

"Still doubt that it was _just_ cockroaches," Callen chuckles, but Kensi retorts, "Look who's talking. You can only say that now coz you got Marty to keep your place clean. Before the little guy showed up, yours was even worse than mine!"

"I would argue about that," Callen smirks.

"I wouldn't," Marty joins, feeling relieved that the guys are acting normally around him, the usual banter, the usual puns... that makes this whole situation more bearable to him.

"Hey, you're supposed to be on my side," Callen whines playfully.

"It's the truth, though," Marty shrugs, to which Kensi huffs victoriously, "Ha!"

"So, returning to the topic on hand – it's really for the best if I just take you home with me, easy as that," Sam insists.

"I don't wanna be a bother," Marty murmurs. He feels that he is getting too much attention now again. And he doesn't like that.

"You're only if you keep on resisting. So now. G needs his rest – and you need it as well. Tell him goodbye and then Kensi takes you to the car," Sam orders. Marty nods hesitantly, clearly intimidated by the big man, and walks up to G to give him a last hug.

"I'll see around. If there is something, you call me, okay?" Callen smirks.

"But you're supposed to rest," Marty argues, but G repeats sternly, "If there is something, you call me."

Marty: "Okay," Marty smiles sheepishly. He still finds it weird to get that much attention, so much care, but... he starts to like it. It feels... warm.

"Good, alright, buddy, then you go with Kensi now," Callen winks at the teenager, "I'll just talk to Sam one last time and then you grab some shut-eye."

"Okay," Marty nods. Kensi claps him on the shoulder, "C'mon, buddy."

"Luv ya, Marty," Callen smirks, and... _yeah,_ still feels right to say it out loud, and _no,_ not feeling embarrassed.

"Luv ya, too," Marty beams... and _yeah..._ feels so, so, so, so right. He can say it because G is alive, still. He is alive and smiling and joking. Things are... things are okay, goodness, things are okay...

Kensi leads Marty out of the room."Thank you for doing this," Callen says to his partner once they are gone.

"No problem. It's really the best solution," Sam assures him, "and the least I can do."

"Sam...," Callen wants to argue, but Sam waves his hands, "Don't say anything. I'm your partner, so I take care of the kid. We have each other's back."

"I appreciate that," Callen nods. They do. They really do.

"You just focus on getting better," Sam smirks.

"Okay, so uhm...," Callen grimaces, "There's a few things you gotta pay attention to when it comes to Marty."

Sam sighs, "G..." However, Callen is already running down his list, "He may not take beverages from Michelle or you if it's not bottled or canned, so you just ask him, he'll tell you how he needs it. Make sure he eats something – and you have to watch him eat, coz sometimes he just puts it away and saves it up, out of habit. And he thinks it's impolite to eat stuff from whom he doesn't know as much... for _some_ reason... so you might actually have to encourage him a bit to eat it, coz he needs his carbs. But don't give him anything porridge like – he _hates_ that stuff."

Sam can't help but stare for a second. He never saw his partner like that, but before the ex-SEAL can even make a try to interrupt him, Callen goes on, "Don't come up behind him to touch him, but make yourself audible to him, that way he doesn't freak. He will try to be overly nice to prove himself to you, so make sure he really sleeps and doesn't clean up the garage or something, believe me, he does that and you won't hear a thing."

"G, I know that you...," Sam wants to say, but no chance, "If he gets upset about something, he's supposed to tell you a number from one to ten. If it's ten, call me so that I can calm him. Anything up to seven you can handle with giving him his journal. You just give it to him, and he'll know what to do. It's usually in the front pocket of his backpack, if not, ask him and then you get it for him. Eight and nine mean that he may go on sit on the ground again, he may start to crouch somewhere, like you saw just now. Best is to stay close by, but don't touch him unless he tells you to. You may talk to him, but don't raise your voice, just keep it leveled and try to be positive, encourage him, you know, so that he feels less embarrassed, coz that's what he is when he does that. When you wake him, say his name before you touch him, otherwise he might slap you across the face real hard or jump three feet. He..."

"G!" Sam interrupts him in a harsher tone now. Callen glances at him. "G, I think I can handle this, okay?" Sam says in a calmer voice, unable to hide a smile. No doubt that this is no longer the G Callen he knew a few months back. This G Callen is even more caring and easily upset and... extremely nuts and paranoid when it comes to Marty. Even if it's annoying as hell at times, Sam as well as the others are _so_ glad Callen finally became like this, really, _finally._ He is a better person now, better for his own good. G seems fuller, and more truthful to himself. Before the teenager bumped into his life, Callen was very reserved and every time he opened up to Sam on the few occasions there were... every secret and every word, so the ex-SEAL knew, was carefully chosen, so that the Pandora box's lid did not open just one inch too far. Yet, here they are, in that hospital room in all this mess that became their life, and Callen is honestly, without hesitation, making a fool out of himself by trying to make everything right for his brother, because he cares just that much.

The person who's ever said that people cannot change never met G Callen, because he is living proof for the opposite.

People can change. They just need the right person to change for.

"I'm just saying," Callen argues almost sheepishly. He knows that he is fussing like a total fool, but... he doesn't care, to be honest. It's about Marty. For as long as it is about Marty, G gladly makes a fool of himself. This is his brother, his everything. And for your everything... you do _everything,_ even the pointless things that actually don't make a difference at all.

"He'll be fine, G. Is not the first time the kid and I meet," Sam chuckles.

"But if you think he gets upset, you can ask him some questions about cars or something of his interest, that helps him snap out of it. You can see it if he's fixing on objects. I think he actually likes fixing on windows for some reason, but that might just be my thinking, I...," Callen simply goes on, but Sam waves his hands at him, "I know that already, G."

"And he...," Callen wants to say, but Sam won't let him, "G, it's fine. I got it. I am actually parent for longer than you are. I know Marty. He's at the office with us everyday and we all know that there's those things we gotta pay attention to. Nate's given all of us a prep-talk... so... nothing's gonna happen. You just get your sorry ass better. I take care of the kid."

"Sorry, is just...," Callen shakes his head. Sam nods, "Parental worry. I've been through it all, I know that."

"I just don't want him to freak. He seemed fine now, and I'd like things to stay that way," Callen admits. Sam agrees, "With you on that one, but he's in good hands."

"I know, Sam. You know that I trust you," Callen nods. This is his partner. If Callen entrusts Marty into someone's hands, it's Sam's. That man didn't just save his life on numerous occasions, no, he also saved him, by becoming his best friend.

"That's good," Sam winks at him.

"I just...," Callen exhales, but Sam understands, "G, I get it. I was the same with my kids for a long while... and still am to some degree."

"Yeah, I remember that," Callen smirks. He joked about it when Sam freaked about not knowing where his kids were, but now... now he gets all of it. So it's possible G owes Sam a big apology for those comments, but then again... not really.

"You care for the kid and you want him to be good. That's perfectly fine," Sam explains, "But now you gotta trust me that I take care of the kid for you, coz you can't."

"I know," Callen sighs. It's always hard to admit defeat. Yet, the stab wound is proof for it: Now... G _is_ defeated. He needs some time to get back up - and some help along the way.

"So don't worry. Just cure yourself so that the boy can calm down, coz sure as hell he won't before you are outta hospital," Sam advises his partner, who nods with a smile, "Alright, thanks."

"Good. Okay. So... I'll see you sometime tomorrow," Sam smirks.

"And about clothes...," Callen breaks out, but Sam cuts him off with a roll of his eyes, "G!"

"Sorry," Callen can't help but laugh. He'll blame it on the meds if anyone asks.

"I'll see you morrow," Sam chuckles, "don't pull anything stupid, or I'm telling Hetty."

"Is that a threat? Sam, I'm already in hospital!" Callen chuckles.

"Then just keep your butt in bed and we're good to go. You'll get it from her anyways, getting stabbed like that," Sam jokes.

"Whatever man," _Callen_ laughs, before turning more serious, "... thanks."

Sam winks at him before he exits the room.

Life is chaos, but sometimes friends can set it straight again.


	21. Witch Fingers & Magical Green Stars

Author's Note: Thanks for the great feedback!  
In this chapter we get a bit of Hanna-family!fluff, I hope you'll still like it. I just love Marty interacting with little kids, and that's why I wanted to dedicate a chapter to that also. Michelle might be a bit OOC, but when I started writing this story, I never saw her on the show, so it's still a bit of my personal imagination. I depicted her as a self-conscious mother therefore. I hope that doesn't bother too much  
Hope you'll like it. Read, review, and enjoy ;)

* * *

After he told G goodbye, Sam makes his way to the parking deck, where Kensi and Marty are already waiting for him in the car. As he enters the car, Kensi snorts playfully, "What were you guys up to, tea party?"

"No, just an overly anxious G Callen on meds. Is really hilarious," Sam shakes his head, "I definitely should've taken a video for blackmailing material... either way... What were you guys up to?"

"We decided that Green Lantern is way behind Batman coz Batman doesn't even need the superpowers to be a superhero, which makes him a double-hero," Kensi declares. She figured it might be best to keep up the light mood and return to "their" kind of normal. And for Kensi and Marty... that's TV shows and comic books. She showed him some pieces from her collection, and Marty admitted that he used to have some when he was still smaller, but only the classics.

"Ah, you kids and your comic books," Sam shakes his head, though he is glad that Kensi managed to keep spirits high for the teenager. Kensi makes a face, "Don't mock the comic books. They are very valuable and will be my pension later in life. And then I'll be rich and living on Tahiti with young gorgeous island men handing me drinks in coconuts."

"Dream on," Sam huffs. Kensi leans back in her seat dramatically, "Already there, oh, coconuts."

Sam rolls his eyes, before he turns to Marty, "So? You ready to go, too?"

"Yeah," Marty nods. He is not exactly sure about staying elsewhere, but he also knows that he can't stay in the hospital... and seemingly not in the apartment. So, he'll have to go with it.

They drop off Kensi at Nell's before Sam drives home. Marty remained very silent throughout the drive, probably because he is nervous, or so the ex-SEAL figured. Marty is simply still having a hard time asking for favors, and sleeping over at someone else's place is just that to him, as it seems.

"C'mon, let's go," Sam says as he parks the car. Marty looks around curiously. He can't remember the last time he's seen such a decent neighborhood. There are actually white fences and dog houses, _ha!_ At some point Marty actually believed this was just something the movie industry came up with to sell the American Dream, but this neighborhood... _wow, just like out of the catalog. _They exit the car and make their way to the house. Marty stares at the lawn... _even grass seems greener here_! Sam opens the door and calls out, "Michelle? Girls! I'm back."

Marty takes a step back, not sure what to make of it. Michelle emerges from the kitchen, walks up to Sam and kisses him on the cheek: "Hey, honey."

"And I brought a guest," Sam nods at the teenager still behind him, and Michelle nods with a smile, "I can see that."

"Michelle? This is Marty, G's little brother. Marty? This is my wife Michelle," Sam introduces the two. Marty walks up to her to shake her hand, "Pleasure to meet you, ma'am."

Michelle chuckles, "Ma'am is what you call a teacher, just call me Michelle, alright, sweetheart?"

"Okay... _Michelle_, pleasure," Marty flashes a genuine shy smile that is already melting the woman's heart. He heard about it from Sam couple of times already – this little guy can make you do anything with those puppy eyes.

"G's still in hospital, so I thought it'd be best that he slept over at our place," Sam explains.

"Oh, yes, of course! Any of G's family is our family," Michelle nods, "So now, c'mon in. I'm just fixing some dinner. Girls! Girls! Come downstairs before I kick your butts!"

After a few moments, two girls with wands, tiaras, and pink and purple fairy wings hop down the stairs.

"Daddy!" they cry out joyfully as they make it over to Sam. He embraces the two, maybe a little tighter than he usually does. The events of today made him realize once again how easily you can lose what's precious to you. After squeezing them one last time, he lets go and explains, "Girls? We got a guest. This is Marty, Uncle G's brother. Say hi to Marty."

"Hi, Marty!" both smile simultaneously.

"Marty? Those are my girls. This is Jasmine, she's six, and this is Marie, she's four," Sam says.

Marty bows in front of them ceremoniously, "Hello, Princess Jasmine, good evening, Fairy Queen Marie."

"Ha! He knows it!" Jasmine snickers.

Marie: "Right, daddy," Marie turns to her father almost reproachfully. Marty makes a face, "What now?" Did he say something wrong? But Sam explains, "They are upset that I never know the difference. They mix those outfits together and get mad at me when I don't know what they represent. You got it right on first try, that's a huge plus."

Marty can't help but shrug at that, "Easy, anything without wings is a princess, if there's anything blue or fish or anything with a water-theme, just attach a mermaid to it. If it's a wand and has wings, it's a fairy for sure, if it's got a wand but no wings it's a Magician, and if it has a broom or tipped hat, it's a witch... though hybrids may also come up on occasion."

"You come to know that how again?" Sam makes a face.

"I already told you, that's when you camp out with little girls for years. You catch up on a few things to keep them occupied," Marty explains. Sam nods courtly. Marty is glad that he doesn't poke for questions now. It just reminds him of the ring and how he sat with the crying girls on the ground, holding them close, shushing sweet little lies of hope in their ears. How he used to tell them the greatest of stories about sunlight and stars shining so bright to make the bars disappear, the mud, the shame, so that nothing but happiness remained. Where fairies flew by and strawberries popped out of concrete. Where milk and honey filled the valleys and the lakes that actually were the drainpipes. Where Mermaids sprang out of the water of the endless oceans, playing with the fish, even if it was just puddles from the rain. Where witches were the police and kept everyone safe. Where magic surrounded them as a protective shield. A place no one but them could touch. Where little girls could be little girls, only for a moment, before cold and hard hands came to claim them again.

Marty shakes his head. He doesn't want to think about it. This is... this is _good._ He is no longer there and he won't panic. Five, four, three, two, one... okay, fine again.

"So you're Uncle G's brother for real?" Jasmine suddenly asks, studying Marty curiously. Marty offers a gentle smirk, "Yeah,_ for real_."

"But why didn't we ever see you before?!" Jasmine argues, shaking her head. Sam jumps in, "Girls, we talked about this. Marty and Uncle G lived apart and only got back together now."

"Right. We grew up in different places, but we are real brothers," Marty agrees. Jasmine turns her attention to her father, then, "Daddy?"

"What is it, sweety?" Sam smirks.

"If Uncle G's our uncle and Marty is his brother... is he our uncle then, too?" the older sister asks. Sam scratches the back of his head with a frown, "Uhm... I don't really know, sweety."

"But daddy, that's important!" Jasmine exclaims, and Marie joins, making a serious face, "Right, daddy!"

"For what?" Sam argues. Jasmine rolls her eyes at her dad, "For _everything_, daddy!"

"Right, now don't be a dummy, daddy!" Marie shakes her head.

"Do you want Marty to be your uncle?" Sam asks.

"Duh!" the two roll their eyes simultaneously. Marty can't help but laugh. Those two are totally adorable.

"Well, it's up to Marty to say," Sam explains, before he turns to the kid, "Marty, you wanna be their uncle?"

"I don't mind," Marty shrugs with a smirk. And he knows better than to object the wishes of two little princesses.

"Then Marty's your uncle also," Sam nods. The kids start to twirl around, "Yay! Awesome!"

"Well, good that we clarified that," Sam shakes his head, "Alright, what do you wanna do with your new _Uncle_ Marty now?"

"Marty! C'mon, you play with us," Marie cries out. Marty holds up his hands in surrender, "But I don't know how the game goes. You'll have to explain it to me, pumpkin."

"Sure!" Marie nods frantically. Jasmine already pulls on his sleeve, "C'mon, this way!"

"... okay," Marty shrugs. The two pull on him and drag him into the living room. Sam shakes his head with a smile before he joins Michelle in the kitchen. She is cutting some vegetables as he embraces her from behind, giving her another kiss on the cheek, "Hey."

"Hey," she smirks, "I take it the girls already claimed stake on our guest?"

"He was already elected Uncle and I think we will have a hard time separating them from him," Sam chuckles. He already anticipated that, but he's still amazed just how much children seem to love Marty... and how much Marty seems to love children.

"Thank God there's still the good old threatening," Michelle snickers mischievously.

"Or we throw a cookie at them," Sam suggests, but Michelle sighs, "That only worked until they figured that this was our way to get them upstairs."

The two girls always had a mind on their own, which means that as a parent, you get _really_ creative.

"True again," Sam grimaces, leaning a little closer, "I hope is really okay that I brought him along?"

Michelle turns around to face him, making a face, "What? No, of course it's straight-up _awful_ that you give a boy of the family shelter. How _dare_ you?"

"I'm just saying," Sam exhales. He should've talked to her first, but this was a decision out of the moment. However, Michelle repeats another time, "I meant what I said. G is your partner, he is one of the family, so that goes for his kin, too. And you don't leave family in the open. Plus, the girls already love him. And they are picky."

"Is just... you know, he has some issues," Sam admits, but Michelle argues, "You told me – and we'll deal with it."

"Okay," Sam smirks. Yeah, he really has the most amazing wife ever.

"Is there something I'm supposed to know about the food?" Michelle asks casually.

"Just let me handle the drinks," Sam says.

"I hope he likes casserole and veggies," Michelle frowns, looking over the pots on the stove with a grimace.

"I don't think he'd tell you even if he hated it," Sam chuckles. No, he knows Marty wouldn't. Michelle exhales, "G is really lucky with that kid, as it seems. The girls will only spit back the veggies again to show us that they'd rather have just candy and cake. He must have taught him good manners."

"All there already. He's a really kind kid," Sam shrugs.

"I bet... mind putting on the plates and everything?" Michelle asks.

"No, on it," Sam smiles, happy to have his family normalcy. Really, after such events, you cherish even things like setting up the dinner table, or family dinner in general. Because it is on those occasions that you realize how much of a loss it would be to be without it.

Sam sets the table in the dining room as Michelle brings the pots. Once they are done, Sam calls out, "Kids? Dinner's ready."

The girls come in, both holding Marty by the hands, dragging him along. "You have to fight them back or they'll think they can always do that," Sam advises the teenager.

"Oh, I don't mind," Marty smiles as he sits down.

"You say that now," Sam chuckles. He loves his girls, but they can be little beasts if they have to. "Okay, here you go, Marty. I hope you like it," Michelle says as she hands him a full plate. Marty takes it, and mumbles sheepishly, "Sure. Yes. Thank you. I mean... thanks."

"You're cute," Michelle beams at him.

"Marty, is it okay to have a glass of juice or you just want a can of pop?" Sam asks, keeping up a casual tone so that Marty doesn't feel as though he is treated _specially special_. Marty glances at him for a second, licks his lip, elaborating on the situation, but then smiles, "Juice would be great. Thank you."

Sam grins at him. That means Marty trusts them at least enough to accept drinks. He had already feared that Marty would feel too uncomfortable for that. Marty on the other hand is thankful that Sam doesn't make it a major issue, but simply addresses the issue without putting more emphasis on it.

Sam pours him a glass he hands to him. Marty glances at it for a few seconds, a little hesitantly, but eventually goes on to drink some of it. They start to eat. Sam observes from the corner of his eye whether or not Marty eats or just hamsters the food, but in fact he eats the meal, if ever so hesitant, but that is something they are all quite accustomed to.

"So... how has your day been?" Sam turns to Michelle, who replies, "Not too spectacular. Did some cleaning. Did some gardening. Talked to Clarice for two hours coz she wouldn't stop blabbering about her new cat. God, I hate that animal already, and I haven't even seen it yet! Either way... Then I got some groceries, yelled at someone in the parking lot who wanted to take the one for the disabled people, almost killed him, but then didn't, coz it was day and then you always have trouble hiding the body... you know, the usual things."

Marty almost drops his fork... the teenager knows that G and he already have weird conversations when they start to joke about shotguns and terrorists or so, but that Michelle drops such news in front of her kids, with such a casual attitude, is even new to him. He knows that Michelle works for the CIA, but still... that means the brothers aren't the only ones who are a bit... _nuts?_ Marty starts to like it here.

"Do I have to worry about charges?" Sam chuckles softly.

"Not really, though I still think 'bout charging him," Michelle grimaces.

"I bet he'll change supermarket from this day on," Sam laughs.

"That might be," Michelle smirks mischievously.

"And what did you two do?" Sam asks the two sisters.

"We were in the Fairy Country and saved the Magical Gum Balls," Marie explains, her expression utmost serious.

"Good job, you guys," Sam praises them with a smile.

"It was hard coz they are fat," Marie adds.

"The Magical Gum Balls, you mean?" Sam frowns. His children always had a wanton imagination, but sometimes he doesn't know what they breed out inside their cute little heads.

"Uh-huh!" Marie says around a mouthful of casserole.

"They played around with the Swiss balls all day long, rolling them up and down the stairs," Michelle translates with a roll of her eyes.

"It was a very risky mission," Jasmine insists.

"In fact, because you almost knocked over Aunt Annabel's vase," Michelle grumbles.

"A ghost lives in there," Jasmine cries out dramatically, but her mother retorts sternly, "It does not – and you will get no pocket-money if you try to break it to set the ghost free, girls, we talked about this."

"Boo," Jasmine pouts. Marty smiles... he really starts to like those two.

"So G is really okay?" Michelle asks, ignoring the girls and their fantasy world for now... if you encourage them, it only gets worse.

"Yeah, lucky bast...," Sam wants to curse, but then bites his tongue, having forgotten that his children are at the table – and then it's not good to use bad words, since then they'll use it for the next three weeks, yelling it at anyone... on any occasion... in public... it was really no pleasure to explain to their eighty-year old neighbor that the girls didn't mean it when they yelled "moron" at her for five minutes... for no reason. Though that was Michelle's fault. She said it.

_"Bast_ basket maker," Marty scaffolds quickly. Sam offers him an appreciating smile for the help, "Right, that. Well, it didn't do any damage other than the cut, so he'll be good to go in a couple of days. The doctors just want to keep an eye on him to be sure."

"That's good," Michelle smiles. She knows how close her husband is to the other agent. They are best friends. And she likes G, too. Even though he made the girls cry a couple of times.

"What is it with Uncle G?" Jasmine asks curiously.

"Oh, nothing bad, honey. Nasty appendicitis," Sam lies, but that only causes the older sister to frown, "Didn't he already have that?"

"Yeah, but this time it needed to be taken out," Sam adds. Whehn G got shot and they asked about him, the parents told them that he had an appendicitis, too.

"Oh," the girl nods.

"But he'll be fine soon again."

"Yay!" Marie throws her hands in the air.

"You can draw him a get-well-soon card if you want," Michelle offers.

"What would he like?" Jasmine asks. "One with tons of glitter and pink, I'm sure," Sam smirks. Marty snickers. _Yeah, right._

"So... Marty, how do you like it with G?" Michelle asks, wanting to keep up conversation with the teenager. After all, this is G Callen's little brother. She wants to get to know him!

"Is great," Marty smiles broadly.

"Really?" Michelle makes a face, "Last time I remember he was not as socialized."

"He's great," Marty insists looking at her sternly. Even if he doesn't raise his voice, you can hear that he's deadly serious about the matter – and won't allow that someone talks about his brother in a bad way, just as it is the other way around. It just proves how strong their bond is, against all odds.

"Hear that, girls? Can't you follow Marty's example and be as grateful as he is?" Michelle jokes. The girls are minding their own business, flopping around the peas. The mother rolls her eyes, "That's what I'm talking about. Girls, you're supposed to eat it, not kill it."

"It's mean little balls who want to...," Jasmine wants to say, but Michelle interrupts her, "We are not going to make those peas any more than peas. You will eat those vegetables, they won't bite you back, c'mon."

"Boo!" Marie pouts.

"Stop the boos here!" Michelle grumbles. That is what they always do when they don't get their will. They pout and boo at them.

"Boo!" Jasmine agrees.

"Oh my," Sam chuckles, but that only makes Michelle angry, "And you're not of much help either, husband."

"Sorry, _wife,"_ Sam grins.

"Better be," she threatens him, before turn to Marty with a sweet smile again, "So... back to you, Marty, before I start to yell again... What do you do for a hobby?"

"I like surfing," he grimaces sheepishly. He is getting more attention than he'd like...

"Oh, really?" Michelle smiles.

"Yeah, Eric takes me every Sunday... and sometimes during the week," Marty nods, "I love the ocean."

"I like the ocean, too, though I just go swimming," Michelle agrees.

"Swimming's cool, too," Marty assures quickly. The mother can't help but crack another smile. Marty's really... _cute._

"Anything else you do?" Michelle asks curiously.

"... uhm, guessing cars?" Marty frowns.

"How does that work?" Michelle makes a face. Marty suddenly glances to the window, waits a moment, then you can hear a car passing by, before he says, "2003 Dodge Caravan."

"Correct, our neighbor's car," Sam nods. With that Marty shrugs at Michelle, _"That's_ guessing cars."

"Impressive," Michelle nods, puckering her lips a bit.

"Thanks," Marty smiles sheepishly.

"What else?" Michelle questions, but Marty just shrugs again, "... dunno."

"He also does Origami," Sam adds with a wink.

"Right," Marty nods, "Sam teaches me some more. I could only do a rose, but it's getting better."

"That's great," Michelle smiles.

"And I love movies and TV," Marty says... now thinking about it, he has more hobbies than he had estimated.

"Kensi," Sam chuckles, and Michelle understands. Her husband told her that the Junior Agent is a TV-movie-crack. And it's really great to see that G's little brother actually has hobbies that connect him with all the team.

Once they are finished, Michelle declares, "Okay, daddy and I will wash off those plates now. If you girls didn't finish your carrots and peas by the time we're back, there's no dessert for you."

"Not fair!" Marie pouts.

_"So_ not fair!" Jasmine agrees, but Michelle doesn't waver, "Just eat the peas and the carrots and you get it, I find that a very fair deal."

"Shall I help with the plates?" Marty offers politely.

"No, thank you, hon. We got it, and you're the guest here," she argues, "This is the first time a child has asked me that. I think I'm going to cry from joy."

Sam smirks at her as the two leave for the kitchen.

"He's adorable," Michelle breaks out as she puts the dishes down.

"He's a good kid, straight-up to the core. And he does G damn good, too," Sam agrees.

"I picture. Just shows how good he is, if he can move the unmovable stone G Callen," Michelle snickers.

"That's what we all think," Sam agrees, "They simply belong together."

"You mind telling me now what it has to do with the drinks?" Michelle asks.

"He was roofied once, as far as I know, since then he has trouble accepting drinks from people he doesn't really know or if he is in a new situation. He is fine with bottled and canned drinks, but when you want to give him something in a glass or so, you should ask him before. Then he says if he's fine with it. It's one of his triggers. Sometimes he doesn't mind, other times he does," Sam explains.

"Is that why you had that huge dumb smile on your face when he asked for the juice?" Michelle snickers.

"I didn't know if he'd trust me that much. It means a big deal to him," Sam smiles.

"... though it's making me sick what's the reason for it," Michelle grits her teeth. Sam told her about Mart's rough background, but to hear that a child can't enjoy a normal drink because of such a thing... it makes her want to shoot those people in the face, or worse.

"Me, too," Sam agrees, "But G's got a pretty good handle on the situation, given that he was thrown into the parenting thing all of a sudden. I'm bound to say."

"Well, I guess that maybe this is what he needed anyways, you know? Someone to watch out for, care for, be around for? Don't you think?" Michelle shrugs. She knows G a bit, from the few times he was over at their house, and one of the first things she has noticed about him was that ever-present loneliness in his eyes, this aura of belonging nowhere.

"Yeah," Sam nods.

"They'll have to come over once he's better. I wanna see those two interact, because they are probably glued together, as far as you told me. I didn't get to see G at all since this started," Michelle says.

"I know, he's been pretty busy with Marty," Sam nods.

"Of course," Michelle shrugs.

"But I'll let him know," Sam winks at her, before he carries on, "G gave me one helluva list for things to watch out for Marty and his, well, kinks. I mean... it was so funny to see him fussing about it like I did when we went out for dinner for the first time after we had Jasmine and had the babysitter over."

"Oh, don't remind me. She was scared outta her mind," Michelle grunts, but then turns serious again, "but speaking of which, is there something I should know? Like... that he might hurt someone else in panic? I just ask so that I can tell the girls in case."

"Well, if he's spacing out or asleep, you and the girls shouldn't just touch him. Call his name and, for good measure, take a step back after that. Sometimes he kicks or jumps out of reflex," Sam explains.

"Well, I'll tell the girls later on. We just won't make it much of a big deal, then," Michelle offers. Sam kisses her on the cheek as he dries the plates, "You are the best."

"I know I'm amazing," she smirks, "Let's see how far our girls got."

"I say one carrot each – and the rest flew through the room," Sam smirks.

"They'll be picking them up with stencils if they dare," Michelle growls. The two walk back in from the dining room. The girls are finishing up their plates.

"So, girls, how much is left so that we can debate on the dessert," Michelle wants to say, but then glances at the plates, "Now wait! Where are the carrots – and the peas?"

"The _what_?" Marie looks up exasperated, but Marty quickly jumps in, "The witch fingers and the magical green stars, honey. You already ate them all?"

"All in my tummy now," Marie smiles, rubbing her stomach for show.

"Wait, what? You made them eat their vegetables?!" Michelle stammers. The teenager turns to her sheepishly, "... is that a problem?"

"No, is just that the girls normally don't touch any of their vegetables," Sam adds quickly.

"How did you do that?" Michelle asks. They already tried anything to bribe the girls, but they just won't. Marty wants to explain, but Marie is already goofing around with her carrots again, which is why he turns to her, "You keep it up with the witch fingers, if you don't eat up, they'll come tickle your tummy from the inside, sweety."

"Oh!" Marie gapes, and quickly carries on eating.

"And the stars will beam green all night if you don't chew properly, Jazzie," Marty lectures the older sister, but she doesn't buy it, "No way!"

"Totally. I saw that on someone," Marty returns, making an utmost serious face.

"You're lying," Jasmine shakes her head.

"Wish I were," Marty shrugs, "But if you don't believe it, well... then you glow green, not my problem."

"You really mean that?!" Jasmine asks, now nervousness getting the better of her, and Marty immediately adds, "Heck yeah. People couldn't sleep next to him coz he shone so brightly."

"What happened to him?" Marie asks curiously.

"He's a frog now, a glowing frog named Dudley," Marty explains. The parents grin. He can really deliver a story.

"No way!" Marie cries out.

"If I tell you so," Marty replies. The smaller girl turns around to her sister, "Jazzie, finish up the stars already!"

Jasmine nods hastily as she chews the last portions of peas. Sam and Michelle just stare at the scene.

"And that's all?" Michelle asks. Marty turns to her, "Well, and you have to sell it the right way. I mean... who wants to eat _vegetables_? That just doesn't sound right. No, you eat... witchfingers or... or little stars... or fairy flowers... something with fairies and princesses. Girls dig those for a good amount of time. It'll get difficult later, but until then..."

"Sam, Marty will come over for dinner every day from this day on," Michelle informs her husband.

"Yeah?" Sam smirks.

"If he makes the girls eat their vegetables, this is surely worth another serving," his wife snorts.

"What about G?" Sam asks playfully. Michelle replies, "He can have something too for as long as he brings this little guy along."

"I hope you heard that," Sam winks at Marty, who shrugs, "Well, you gotta ask G."

"Maybe we should get G outta the way so we can have him," Michelle whispers playfully.

"Hey!" Marty cries out. Michelle glances at him, "Ah, forgot, you can read lips, can't you?"

Marty nods.

"He's like the spy son we never had," Michelle snickers.

"G won't share, believe me," Sam huffs. _No way_. Callen hates to share, and he hates to share Marty even more.

"Pity. Well, okay, so since the princesses decided to have some of the... witch fingers, dessert for everyone," Michelle declares. The girls yelp, "Yay!"

Michelle and Sam grab their plates and walk back into the kitchen. Sam washes the last dishes while she prepares the ice cream.

"He's doing incredibly well with kids," Michelle says. Sam already mentioned it, but now she got to see it – and it really amazes her.

"He simply has this kinda influence on kids, he just knows how to talk to them," Sam shrugs, the picture of the small child hugging him after they freed them out of the sex ring still vivid in his mind.

"It's just... I don't know. If you think about what he's been through... I'd understand if he simply, you know, hated the world?" Michelle grimaces, and Sam can't help but shrug, "We all ask ourselves at some point, even G... but Marty just doesn't. I don't know. He simply shines. He's incredibly strong, that's all I know. In the beginning he wasn't cheerful, but since he learned that G is his brother... he's really opened up, as has G."

"Well, then it's for good... for as long as people are happy," Michelle smiles, "Okay, let's get them their well-deserved dessert."

The two adults walk back into the dining room to find Marie on Marty's lap as he rocks her back and forth while Jasmine twirls around herself to make her dress spin as Marty hums a rhythm. Michelle watches in awe for a moment before she nudges against Sam, leaning her head against his shoulder for a moment, both enjoying this moment of bliss before the ice cream is handed out and greedily eaten.

The evening carries on uneventfully. The girls play with Marty while the parents watch some TV.

"Okay, girls, it's time for you to go to bed!" Michelle declares, but the girls don't want to, "No!"

"Yes," Michelle hisses sternly.

"But we wanna play with Marty!" Jasmine argues.

"Girls, I think Marty could use a break from playing horse for you, c'mon," Sam lectures them. The girls turn to their mother hopefully, "Mommy!"

"Na-ah, you'll walk upstairs right now, or else Marty won't play with you in the morning!" Michelle says. Both pout, but the mother ignores it, "Now tell daddy and Marty goodnight."

The two run up to their father to jump on him for hugs and kisses, "Night, daddy."

"Night, girls," Sam smirks. After that they instantly run up to Marty and fall down on him, doing just the same they did with Sam. Marty is surprised for a second, but then kisses both on the forehead, "Night, you two."

"Nighty, Marty," the two sisters laugh. With that they walk back up to their mother. Michelle grabs them by the hands to go upstairs. "I'll prep up the guest room once they are in bed," she says as she goes. "Thanks," Marty nods. Once the children are out of sight, Marty rolls on his back with a grunt.

"I told you, don't let them push you around," Sam smirks, amused.

"I don't know how you say no to them, coz _I_ can't," Marty chuckles.

"I let Michelle do it," Sam shrugs.

"I'll try to remember that...," Marty huffs.

"So you're okay?" Sam asks cautiously.

"What? Yeah, of course," Marty assures him.

"Well, I'm just asking. This is the first night you don't sleep over at G's," Sam explains. He just wants to make sure the kid is alright.

"I know," Marty nods with a grimace, though he is not too sure about it yet.

"You know, if you miss him or so, you can always use our phone," Sam adds quickly.

"I'm good," Marty nods. He is good, for now anyways. He misses G, but it's not... panicky missing yet.

"Okay, just saying. Don't bother to ask or just pick up the phone, or if you wanna see him again... I can sneak you in," Sam smirks, causing Marty to chuckle, "Is good to have agents as friends."

"You got it," Sam laughs.

Michelle comes back downstairs, glancing at Marty still on the ground, "Did they break your back?"

"Not yet. But we'll play witches next time. Witches have brooms to fly around with. No horses. Definitely no horses," Marty grunts, though he has the hugest of smiles on his face.

"Well, the room's ready, if you want to sleep. I bet you're very exhausted," Michelle winks.

"Yeah, actually," Marty admits. He is totally worn out to be honest. All the worrying, crying, fearing, not panicking... now that he is calmed down... it starts to nag at him.

"The bathroom is at the end of the hallway, I put towels and extra tooth-brush and paste and some shower gel and shampoo on there, so you have your own set," Michelle tells him. Marty beams at her, "Wow, thanks."

"Happy for a toothbrush, that I witness that day," Michelle shakes her head, "Either way, Sam? Something's stuck in the sink, if you could take care of that?"

"Did the girls try to stuff something in it again?" Sam grunts, getting up. Michelle shrugs, "Think so. So... if you'd work your magic so that we don't have a flood by morning?"

"Sure, c'mon, Marty. I'll show you," Sam nods before heading upstairs. Marty follows. Once upstairs, Sam points at the rooms as he explains, "That's your room. Our room's over there. The girls sleep over there and there. Look around a bit if you like, I'll just fix the sink."

"... okay," Marty nods, glancing around. Not only the neighborhood is decent, but also the house, that much is for sure. Sam quickly fixes the sink and emerges out of the bathroom with a smile, "All done."

"What did the girls do to it?" Marty frowns.

"They dug up some of the Twizzlers from last Halloween to put through the holes," Sam shakes his head. Marty nods, "Then they probably tried to drown some nasty red snakes."

"That might be... either way, we'll have them lectured by morning on how we don't drown whatsoever in the sink," Sam scratches the back of his head... they had that talk so many times he forgot to count. The girls just always find something new to do to mess around.

"Might be good idea," Marty smirks.

"Okay, kid, so the bathroom is free for you to use... if you want to, you can go inside and use your brand-new toothbrush...," Sam winks at him, but suddenly, Marty's face turns more severe and anxious actually. He bites his lower lip, "Uhm..."

"Something you need?" Sam asks.

"Actually," Marty makes a face... that won't come out right.

"What is it?" Sam blinks at him.

"Do you have a basement?" Marty blurts out.

"Why are you asking me this?" Sam knits his eyebrows together.

"Nothing against the room, I just think it'd be better if I slept in the basement," Marty grimaces.

"Why would you want to sleep in the basement, where it's cold and where there is no bed?" Sam makes a face. That is a kink G forgot to mention.

"I have those nightmares, still. And after what happened today, I don't know if I'm going to have one. And then I start to scream and all... And then... then I might upset the girls. They are just over there," Marty stammers, feeling absolutely embarrassed and ridiculous. But he just can't help it. With G, he has a routine, but he can't demand that routine from other people, can he? And then the girls... they'd be terrified! Sam is visibly shocked at the statement.

"I mean, with G... he, uhm... he... I'm guest here, so," Marty brings out, but then Sam takes his turn, "Right, you are guest here, and you're a _welcome_ guest."

"I'm just saying," Marty mutters faintly, but Sam says, "Here is what we'll do. You will leave the door open so that we can hear you if you have a nightmare or panic attack. G told me what to do. So, no one is sleeping in the basement, and if you dare go downstairs to crash on the ground or so, I will tell G about it and he's gonna give you the earth-mother of lectures."

Marty is taken aback by that gesture.

"So, are we clear?" Sam asks. Marty nods frantically, "Yeah... thanks."

Sam squeezes his shoulder, "You are one of the family, don't regard yourself any less, okay?"

"Okay, thank you," Marty nods, so Sam adds, "Now get yourself ready for bed. And if there's anything you need, you just call out to us."

Marty beams at him shyly before going off for the bathroom. Sam walks back downstairs and sits with his wife, who frowns at him, "Everything alright?"

"Yeah... he just... he just asked me if he should sleep in the basement," Sam makes a face, still mulling this over. He knows from G that Marty hardly accepts favors, and he saw that before, but that Marty would suggest... _that?_ No, he didn't see it coming.

"Why would he ask you that?" Michelle frowns. Sam shrugs, "He has those nightmares. And he was afraid he'd upset the girls if he cries out in his sleep."

"Oh my," Michelle gasps sympathetically. The poor boy.

"I told him to leave the door open and to ask when it's needed," Sam explains, "I just hope he simply sleeps through the night, then he will regain some of his courage."

"Well, he's exhausted, so maybe that helps," Michelle argues. Sam also figures that Marty suggested that because he is very tired and still very afraid, so they shouldn't make a fuss themselves. Keep it normal, Nate's said it before.

"And even if... we deal with it," Sam nods, and Michelle agrees, "Of course."

He kisses her as they continue to watch TV.

Marty flops down on the bed, staring at the ceiling for a minute. He doesn't like the thought of scaring the girls, but Sam mad at him is something he likes even less... and G and Nate told him several times that he has to accept normalcy to happen. This _is_ normal... in their messed-up sense of the term. People sleep over at a friend's house all the time. And then you don't sleep in the basement either, because friends help out, that's normal, too. Marty just hopes it will do. That everything will do. That everything will be okay again. It just has to.

But then he drifts off into sleep and it's not until next morning that he wakes.

Gladly.


	22. Missing You

Author's Note: Thanks for the awesome feedback, guys! You are the greatest!  
Okay, so this chapter is a bit of transition to the next bigger arc I have in mind, plus... I wanted a Marty/Hetty moment... I hope I did a decent job at it.  
And I know... one Marty-quote is an actual Sam-quote on the show, but I just though it fit... and another Marty-quote which is actually a Densi moment is now a Marty/Hetty moment, sorry for that. I just liked it like that.  
Anyway, I hope you'll like it.  
Read, review, and hopefully enjoy ;)

* * *

When morning comes, all are glad that it was just... a normal night, for their standards. Everyone slept through. Marty didn't have a panic attack – and that is why he seems much more relieved this morning. The smile returned to his face, and that's all that counts, or so all figure.

After quick breakfast, Sam takes Marty with him to NCIS, figuring it might be for the best to stick to routine so that Marty doesn't get too upset about Callen. Nate told them that Marty needs routines to reduce stress, so they shouldn't fall out of pattern now.

"Hey, Marty, hey, Sam," Kensi greets them as the two reach the bullpen.

"Hey," Marty smiles at her shyly.

"So? Did the Hanna clan freak you out?" Kensi winks at the teenager.

"Should it?" Marty frowns at her, "I like them all..."

"Well, they are all a bit nuts," Kensi snickers.

"We all are," Marty shrugs, "and I like that. Makes me feel less nuts, too."

"Hm, I like that way of thinking," she winks at him, but then turns more serious, "Hetty wants to see you. Just go to her desk, okay?"

Marty looks frightened, so Kensi assures him quickly, "Is surely nothing bad."

"Okay, see you later," Marty shrugs and walks off to Hetty's desk.

"Did you see Callen today already?" Kensi asks Sam, but he replies, "No. I figured it'd be best to have the kid go through his usual routine. I'll take him over to the hospital either during break or after work, unless he asks for it, of course, but we should... keep up our kind of normalcy, I think."

"I reckon it might be for the best, really," Kensi nods.

"The more normal things stay, the less he'll have time to bother his head about Callen and his well-being and everything else that might be inside his head, coz sure as hell that guy's a little mystery in himself," Sam huffs.

"How did it go otherwise over at the Hanna residence, then?" Kensi asks.

"The girls are all over him," Sam smirks.

"I would've taken any bet that they'd be. I mean, we are, too, so figures," Kensi snickers.

"Yeah, well, he already got elected their new uncle...," Sam laughs at the memory. In a wider sense, it's a metaphor for Marty's situation: he was just welcomed into the family, and Sam likes that thought, because that is just what he sees in G and the others also, family.

Kensi chuckles, "How did that happen?"

"The girls said that since Marty's G's brother, he's gotta be their uncle also," Sam shrugs.

"Ah, of course," Kensi laughs amused. It's nice to hear, well, good things. She already feared that Sam would go on and only tell her how scared Marty was and how bad his panic attacks were, but if there is at least a few bright sides to this story, Kensi likes it already.

"They are really getting along well, except for the fact that I think the girls are taking advantage of him to have a play buddy for all the dirty work," Sam shrugs.

"Such as?" Kensi makes a face.

"Playing the pony for them. He still has to learn to say no," Sam snickers.

"I couldn't say no to them either. They are just too adorable," Kensi shakes her head.

"But you know what? He made them eat their vegetables!" Sam smiles.

"No way!" Kensi chuckles. Sam has complained about the girls not touching them in ages. So much that Callen and Kensi already had the feeling they were already part of the whole conflict.

"Totally. They ate it all, and that just thanks to some story Marty's told them. I mean... he tells them those carrots are the fingers of a witch and bang, they eat it. Michelle and I almost dropped unconscious from shock," Sam can't help but chuckle.

"I picture," Kensi smirks, "but next time he gets to camp over at my place. That's already decided on."

"That's only decided on once G gives his okay," Sam shakes his head. Kensi looks around suddenly, making sure that Marty is nowhere seen before she turns to Sam in a whisper, hugging her arms, "Did he... you know..."

They know about Marty's issues, at least that he has them, not why, other than a few things Marty admitted by now. And one of the foremost problems are the nightmares, so all know. She actually feared that Marty would have a total breakdown.

"No, slept through," Sam replies, "He was afraid he'd have one... suggested to sleep in the basement."

"So that you don't hear it?" Kensi makes a sad face. Sam shrugs, "But he gave in quite fast. I wanna put this under "out of the moment reaction"... His brother was critically injured, so I guess that he suggests something like that is mostly coz of his worry for him."

"Yeah, think so," Kensi agrees.

"But... in the end we all had a restful night. I guess he was just too exhausted," Sam shrugs with a weak smirk.

"Well, then we should wear him out today, too," Kensi suggests.

"Might be a good plan," Sam nods. Right, keep the little guy occupied, then he sleeps through the night. Seems easy enough.

Meanwhile, Marty made his way over to Hetty's desk, who is sipping her obligatory tea.

"Ah, Mr. Deeks. I was already waiting for you," Hetty smiles at him and gestures, "Have a seat."

Marty obeys and flops down in the stool abruptly.

"How are you, Mr. Deeks?" Hetty asks.

"Fine, thank you," Marty nods, blinking at the petite woman curiously. Just what would Hetty want from him?

"I talked to Mr. Callen this morning, on the phone, and he is already bugging me that I let him get out. Of course I refused," Hetty snickers, and Marty nods with appreciation, "Thanks. It'd scare me if he, you know, collapsed all of the sudden or so."

"Just my thinking," Hetty smirks, "You and Mr. Hanna's family are also getting along?"

"They are amazing," Marty smiles. They really are.

"Good," Hetty nods, taking another sip from her tea.

Marty licks his lips, "So... what did you want from me? Kensi said..."

Hetty's face instantly becomes more sincere, "I wanted to give you the chance to ask some questions you may have on mind."

"About what?" Marty blinks at her, to which she replies simply, "About the attack on Mr. Callen."

"Oh... _that,"_ Marty grimaces... that had to come. And he would rather not have that conversation. He will already have it with Nate once he's back, or with Keith or Richard if it gets bad... to have it with Hetty now... no, he doesn't like it.

"I know that this is something you'd like to forget about, and so do we all, but... I think it's my obligation to answer your questions, if you have any," Hetty continues in a calm voice.

"Why is it your obligation?" Marty frowns, to which Hetty explains, "I am the boss of this team. I administered this mission to them. And I gave the command for Mr. Callen to take the lead. Therefore, I find it proper to answer questions about what went on or for my motivation to send your brother, whatever it is you may have on mind. I will answer them all truthfully."

"You think I'm mad at you," Marty frowns.

"I don't think you're mad at me," Hetty chuckles, "but perhaps... well, a little? You are getting better at reading people, Mr. Deeks."

Marty beams at her.

"So, is there something?" Hetty asks in a soft voice.

"Just... do I have to expect that to happen now... every time?" Marty asks in a steady, but hushed voice.

Hetty: "That he gets hurt like this?" Hetty asks. Marty nods.

"Mr. Callen normally doesn't get injured much because he is a very able agent," Hetty explains, "I cannot deny that there is a risk each time, but... for as long as Mr. Callen is working for me, he had three major injuries, six semi, and some cuts and bruises. And he's worked for me some years already. So you see, Mr. Callen is very able to take care of himself. And the team has his back also."

Marty takes a second to let the information sink in before he says, "It's just... in the hospital... I just... I was so shocked. I mean... I wanted to run away and... and run into the surgery room... and then away again. I'd just like to know if I have to expect that kinda roller coaster every time now."

"You don't. I assure you," Hetty says calmly.

"And you don't say that just so that I calm down?" Marty asks suspiciously.

"I told you that I'd be truthful to you," Hetty argues.

"G's job is dangerous," Marty replies.

"So is crab fishing," Hetty chuckles, "That doesn't mean that every one of that profession is meant to get injured or killed, Mr. Deeks."

"I know, I know," Marty sighs.

"Is there anything else you'd like to know?" Hetty asks.

"Not really. I... to me it's just important that... that he doesn't...," Marty grimaces, and Hetty completes, "Die?"

Marty nods, "I know it can happen. I know it can happen making pancakes. Most accidents happen at home, still. I know that. And... I know that G's... that his job is dangerous. It's just that I don't know how... how I... get past that? This roller coaster? I don't always wanna freak. It's stress, for one, but more importantly... that way I'm not... I don't work. I don't function. I'm just there and... and I feel so useless that I can't even tell. And I can't just fall back into hole after hole when G goes on a mission. I can't do that to you, to G, to myself. I have to find a way to cope with that, to... get over it. Do you know how I manage that? You have so much experience with these things..."

Hetty is actually surprised by Marty's openness. She expected him to be more reserved and save such a confession up for Nate, but the last bit makes it clear: he asks her that because he trusts her experience.

"Those feelings, I fear, will always stay at some point, Mr. Deeks, because they have a very real source, a very real reason," Hetty explains, "But... to me, it is always a great comfort to know that we do something for the sake of the better, to make sure people are safe and that justice is served. What we do has a purpose, a good purpose. Mr. Callen risks his life for exactly those motives. He does it for the good, so do all others of the team. That thought, to me, makes it at least more bearable. So that the roller coaster noises become less loud. If we get hurt, if we bleed, if we get... stabbed... then that is so because we want others to be kept from bleeding, being stabbed... and I don't think that this concept is all too unfamiliar to you, Mr. Deeks. In fact, I think it's something no one knows as well you do."

"What?" Marty blinks at her incredulously, but Hetty goes on, "I don't know everything, but I know a few things about you, from what I saw, from what you shared with us. And from that I can take that you, Mr. Deeks, risked your life many times already for the sake of others. In that ring, you took the... _hard..._ jobs, you said, so that others wouldn't have to take them. You went back to save those children, though you were injured, though you just escaped this kind of hell. You protected them, with your life on the line. And it is this spirit that we try to live up to as agents. We do what you did, or at least we try. And even if I don't know what exactly motivated and still motivates you, there must be something, some catch to it so that you do what you do, did, saving people, putting your life on the line. And, as far as I know, this sufficed for you up to that point, didn't it?"

Marty nods. G didn't lie when he said that Hetty knows... _everything._

"Then try to take that spirit and use it on us, when the agents are on a mission. They do what you did – for the same reasons," Hetty says, "You have to try to endure those roller coaster feelings by focusing on what made it worthwhile for you to save the children, to put your on the line. Make whatever it is that you see as worthwhile that you let your brother and your friends put their lives on the line the same way you did. Because I think your devotion is strong enough for that kind of spirit."

"... I'll try," Marty manages a weak smile. This team... they just keep on amazing him.

"That's good," Hetty smiles.

"Sunshine," Marty blurts out, not looking at her.

"Pardon?" Hetty frowns.

"One of the things that... that made it worthwhile to me. Sunshine," Marty grins. Hetty smiles at him, "I thank you for sharing that with me... and I gotta agree, sunshine is something very worth fighting for."

Both fall silent for a moment. Hetty is relieved that Marty is actually... handling so well. And Marty is glad for the advice Hetty gave him. He thinks this will actually help him.

"So, unless there is something else you'd like to discuss, Ms. Jones and Mr. Beale would be delighted if you played some games with them upstairs. Today is only light duty anyways," Hetty tells him after a while, flashing a smirk.

"Oh, alright, sure," Marty nods. He gets up and says, "Thanks for the talk."

"Come again when you feel the need, Mr. Deeks," Hetty nods.

"Okay. Till later," Marty winks at her. Hetty smiles as the teenager goes upstairs, his footsteps a little lighter than before. She takes another sip of her tea, leaning back. Those two brothers... very alike... and both... little buggers.

* * *

Later the day, Marty is sitting next to Nell as he plays another round of some zombie killer game with her. She is totally into it, while Marty's eyes are looking way past the monitor.

"Aww, man!" Nell cries out. Eric tilts his head, "You lost again?"

"I lost against him though he isn't even paying attention!" Nell grumbles, which brings Marty back to reality, "What?"

"See?" Nell points at him.

"Marty, you shouldn't do that to her, she might eat your face," Eric warns her. Nell is _very_ much into this game.

"I'm sorry. I'm just... I don't know," Marty grimaces. He rubs a hand over his face.

"You miss him, huh?" Nell smiles at him affectionately. Marty grins at her weakly, "... it surprises me how fast one can grow used to... you know, people being around... routines, habits."

"Must be good people and habits if you miss them," Nell assures him.

"Yeah," Marty nods.

Eric offers, "Hm, I think it's almost time for lunch break. How about one of us gives you a lift to the hospital?"

"Really?" Marty stares at the two analysts.

"I bet Callen's climbing the walls anyways!" Eric chuckles.

"Totally," Nell agrees.

"Okay, let's talk to the Big Guy, "Eric suggests, "He's in charge of you during Callen's absence, so... he makes the call."

The three head downstairs.

"Had some fun?" Kensi asks as she catches sight of them.

"I have to buy new games he doesn't know. He starts to beat me in all of them. I don't like that," Nell shakes her head.

"Maybe you should try to lose on purpose, Marty?" Kensi suggests.

"He tried – but she realizes and then she's even madder," Eric snickers.

"Oh, boo," Kensi chuckles.

"Marty's asked if maybe we can get him to hospital, to keep Callen's sanity?" Nell suggests.

"Oh, yeah, sure, almost forgot that I wanted to take you," Sam nods, "if you want, I take you now."

"Okay, thanks," Marty nods frantically. Finally! It's no secret he misses G, and even if the guys are great... they are not G. Simple as that.

* * *

The two make their way to the hospital.

"Okay, how about I come back once I'm done with work, then we have dinner over at my place?" Sam offers as he parks the car close to the entrance.

"Sounds good," Marty nods, his mood instantly better now with the prospect of seeing G.

"Alright, tell G hi from me," Sam smirks, "And make sure he doesn't make a leave for it."

"Hetty's given me cuffs some time ago," Marty shrugs.

"Use them – and take a picture!" Sam chuckles.

"Sure," Marty makes a mock-salute.

"Okay, I'll text you once I'm on my way or if I run late. You call me if you wanna go back or if there is something else, yes?" Sam suggests.

"Alright," the teenager nods as he exits the car. Marty knocks on the roof of the car before he heads inside. Sam waits for a few more moments before he drives off. Marty makes his way upstairs to G's room. His face immediately lights up as he catches sight of his younger brother. The teenager counts to three, takes a deep breath, then goes inside.

"Hey, buddy," Callen grins as Marty makes his way inside, "Hey, how are you feeling?"

"People try to tell me I'm not as great, but I feel like going back in the field, like right now," Callen smirks.

"I don't think so," Marty shakes his head.

"Don't I get a welcome hug? I need a little love here," Callen chuckles. Marty smirks before he gives his brother a gentle hug around the shoulders, Callen holds on extra tight for just a second before he releases his grip on him, "So, everything went alright over at Sam's house?"

"Yeah," Marty nods.

"I bet you dug the food," Callen chuckles.

"Not burned stuff is nice for a change, I guess," Marty agrees.

"Aw!" Callen acts offended.

"I bet it was better than your stuff over here," Marty grimaces.

"I don't wanna think about it. They call this food, I call it a vicious attack," Callen makes a face.

"That might be true," Marty snickers.

"Well, but beside the food you're getting along with the Hanna clan?" Callen asks.

"The girls are amazing," Marty smiles. G already anticipated that reaction, of course.

"The goofballs are driving me nuts when I'm there," Callen chuckles.

"They are great. They laugh a lot. Laughing is good," Marty smiles, and G agrees, "It is."

"... I got a toothbrush from them," Marty smirks happily.

Callen chuckles, "Yeah, sometimes home's where there is a toothbrush."

It always amazes him how little it takes to make Marty happy. It makes him realize just how precious even the smallest things are... like a toothbrush. Becasue even such a trivial thing might be luxury to someone else.

"Yeah...," Marty nods, "So how was your day?"

"Boring?" Callen provides with a shrug.

"What did the doctor say?" Marty asks.

"That I'm on my way back to health... but that it needs some more time. Medical term. Medical term. I'm so much better than all of you coz I wear scrubs. Medical term. Medical term. I should be off for the next patient. Medical term. Bye," Callen summarizes. Marty smirks at him briefly.

"I'm gonna be fine," Callen winks at him.

"Yeah, I know," Marty replies faintly.

"Are you gonna be?" Callen asks tentatively.

"... with this?" Marty blinks at him. Callen nods.

"I guess," the teenager shrugs.

"Really?" Callen questions.

"I didn't have a real panic attack and... I talked to Hetty... it's okay, for now," Marty explains.

"Okay," Callen nods. Both fall silent for a while.

"Did you get some sleep last night?" Callen asks.

"Slept through," Marty replies.

"Oh, that's good!" Callen smirks. He already feared that Marty wouldn't get any sleep at all.

"Was really tired," Marty admits.

"I picture," Callen grimaces sympathetically. No wonder!

"Did you get some sleep?" Marty asks in turn.

"A bit, but... I don't like to sleep on my back, so this kinda sucks. And is weird to fall outta routine," Callen shrugs. Marty smirks at him, "Yeah, I missed you also."

Callen smiles back at him. They really start to understand each other.

"So you're really bored?" Marty asks curiously.

"Is better now that you're here, but yeah, this is not exactly a theme park," Callen shrugs. He hates hospitals, just like Marty. They are white, they are boring, and you can't away. That is nothing Callen wants to spend more time at than necessary. Marty takes out a card game. Callen snickers, "Ah, my little savior! What's the game?"

"Your call," Marty shrugs.

"Gin?" Callen suggests, and Marty nods, "Alright."

So the two play all games they can come up with, enjoying the closeness to each other, and the simplicity of the situation. Even if everything seems chaotic now, this works... they work. They are together, playing Gin. And that is when you can even forget about hospitals and stab wounds and fears.

* * *

A few hours later, Marty receives a text from Sam that he is coming to pick him up. The two wait for the other agent to arrive.

"You gotta bring me some darts some time," Callen smirks. Marty grimaces, "I won't give you anything sharp that you may throw at the staff."

"I wouldn't," Callen insists mockingly.

"I think you'd do many things if you have a resolution for it," Marty shrugs.

"Might be true, yeah," Callen grimaces.

"Maybe I get you some with suckers on the ends," Marty offers.

"I know I can count on you," Callen chuckles. And really, he can.

"Sure," Marty smiles.

"Already plotting against the staff, G?" Sam's voice rings from the door. The ex-SEAL leans against the door-frame with a smirk before he enters. Callen smirks at his partner, "I'd never, you know that."

"I know you'd most definitely do," Sam chuckles, "Is good to see you."

"Yeah, I know you dig seeing me in short dresses," Callen snickers as Sam walks up to the bed.

"Ugh, stop that," Sam makes a disgusted face.

"Now the picture's in your head, for the rest of your life," Callen chuckles.

"Okay, Marty, let's leave that weirdo of a brother to his own business, shall we?" Sam winks at him.

"Okay," Marty shrugs.

"Hey, don't you defend me?" Callen cries out dramatically.

"I don't wanna mess with him," Marty argues.

"But with me?" Callen asks.

"At the moment... you're not the biggest threat. He can stand on his own," Marty thumbs at Sam, who laughs out, "Ha! You heard the little guy. Okay, so now, you tell your big brother in a dress goodbye."

"I'll leave you the card game," Marty smirks.

"So generous," Callen winks at him.

"If it gets too boring, try to make them stick to the ceiling," Marty suggests, but Sam argues, "Don't dare him. He does that. G's like a little child when it comes to these things."

"Am not," Callen mocks.

"Are, too," Sam joins.

Marty hugs Callen around the shoulders again. The older brother ruffles through Marty's hair, before he pats him one last time.

"You already go ahead? I'll be right after," Sam nods at the teenager. Marty salutes, "Alright. See you, G."

"Bye, Marty. Have fun," Callen waves at him. Marty walks out of the room.

"So," Callen turns more serious, "did really everything go okay or was there trouble the kid wouldn't mention to me?"

"We had one heart-to-heart before he got to bed, but he let go of it quite fast," Sam shrugs.

"... huh?" Callen frowns. What now?

"He was afraid that he'd scare the girls if he started screaming in his sleep and all," Sam explains, "so he asked... if we had a basement to put him there."

"Oh," Callen grimaces. No wonder Marty didn't want to mention _that..._

"I mean, I told him that we leave the door open and that we'll handle it, but he slept through the night, so there was not really a problem," Sam assures him quickly.

"Yeah, no, this is his way of showing that he cares. He didn't want to be a bother. I'm still trying to get that outta his system, but... that'll take some more time, coz it's embedded into his system – deep," Callen grimaces.

"Hey, I don't blame the kid. Is just creepy that the first best solution to him is that he goes for the basement, of all places. He didn't even think about... I don't know, sleeping downstairs or so," Sam grimaces.

"... he didn't open up to me about that all too much, about the source of the trauma. I mean, he knows we don't have a basement at the apartment, so he's never asked me _that_. But... he tried stuff before to make sure I don't hear him... So this is not going against you. He did it with me, too. And it was extreme... was one of the scariest sights ever...," Callen admits. _That godforsaken gag_... no, that still didn't leave him.

"You never told me about that," Sam grimaces.

"Is nothing I like to think or should share details about. Coz the more I think about it, the more pictures of how he came up with this... and then I just wanna throw up," Callen shakes his head.

"With you on that one," Sam grimaces.

"But he doesn't do it anymore, so... don't sweat it, I think it was out of the moment," Callen nods.

"But he's...," Sam grimaces, and Callen understands, "discussing it with Nate and me, yeah."

"Okay," Sam nods. Then it should be okay.

"So, you see... has nothing to do with you or coz of a lack of trust, it's himself he doesn't trust. He has a hard time letting go, really loosening up," Callen explains.

"Maybe he should start with getting a massage?" Sam huffs.

"Might be. I don't know," Callen shrugs. But for that Marty would have to allow other people touching him... so... maybe not. _Definitely not_.

"Alright, so... something you need?" Sam asks.

"Next time you come: pants, dude, pants, pants and a shirt," Callen gesticulates. _Really,_ he hates those gowns even more than the food, and that seems hardly possibly.

"I'll see what I can do. Or maybe I get you one of the frilly dresses to match your new look," Sam smirks.

"That's why I love you," Callen rolls his eyes.

"Ah, speaking of which, almost forgot," Sam snickers, before he fishes out a pink get-well-soon card with glitter and ponies on it he then puts on the nightstand.

"The girls want you to heal up quickly after that _nasty_ appendicitis," Sam chuckles, "so they wanted to get you something... fitting."

"That's fitting?" Callen huffs.

"Asks me the guy in a gown," Sam snickers.

"Point taken. Tell the girls thank you from me," Callen winks at him.

"Sure," Sam smirks, "Alright, I'll see ya around morrow again – and don't do anything stupid."

"Right back at you," Callen nods.

"Bye," Sam waves.

"Bye," Callen smirks. With that Sam walks out. Callen leans back.

He just wants to get out of here.


	23. Babysitting & Monsters in the Dark

Author's Note: Thanks for the awesome feedback! Still can't believe it!  
Okay, uhm... I will not put up too great warnings, because I don't want to spoiler my chapter. I want it to be a surprise. What I want to make clear is that the last part is something I'm not too good at when it comes to writing. I hope you get the general idea, though. It might seem a bit far-fetched, but I assure you, it all adds up for my major plot! I have a plan... that hopefully works out ;)  
Anyway, I hope you like it.  
Read, review, enjoy ;)

* * *

After he told G goodbye, Sam walks outside and over to the car, where Marty is already waiting for him.

"Alright, so I'd say we drive over to your apartment little quick to grab some clothes and other stuff, and then we head over to my place," Sam suggests, "sounds like a plan?"

"Yeah, sounds great," Marty nods. He always has spare clothing in his backpack, out of habit, so he was good for today, but the teen definitely needs something for tomorrow. He can't help but smile at the thought... around a month back Marty gave a damn on his clothing. He was just glad he had something to put on, but now... now he actually has the luxury of fresh clothing, and he likes it.

Sam starts the car and they head to the apartment. Marty grabs clothes and other necessities for a week, and Sam stuffs some of G's things into his duffel, smirking at the sight of trousers and boxer shorts... G is going to regret this. Years of torture and embarrassing pictures ahead.

Once they have everything, they head back to Sam's house.

"We're back!" Sam declares as he closes the door. Just like the other day, Michelle emerges from the kitchen, but she looks somewhat distressed.

"Hey, you two. Marty, wanna go see the girls? They are already asking for you?" she asks politely, and Marty gets the hint that she needs to talk to her husband in private, "Sure."

He walks into the living room and is greeted by shrieking "Marty!" and a series of of thuds and grunts. They are probably wrestling already.

"You look stressed-out?" Sam asks with a grimace.

"Well, you tell me!" Michelle throws her hands in the air, which only causes Sam's frown to deepen, "What now?"

"I forgot that we actually wanted to go out for dinner for our anniversary of when we met for the first time... _today,"_ she grunts.

"Oh...," Sam puckers his lips. Michelle turns to him with a stern facial expression, "If you say that you didn't, I will smack you."

"No, totally forgot it," Sam admits, "in the mess this kinda went under."

"Well, so I also forgot to schedule a babysitter. Now I called all on the list – and none of them is free," Michelle grumbles. She hates it when things don't go as planned.

"Well... that's of course a problem," Sam grimaces.

"I tried the others of the family, but they aren't free either. _Of course_, the one day I need them around, all have better to do," Michelle growls, before she searches his eyes again, "what about your colleagues?"

"They should be drunk by now," Sam grimaces. Kensi told him that she and the analysts would spend the evening together.. _partying._

"They planned on a game-and-drink-till-it-hurts party. I don't think this would be a good idea," Sam grimaces. He saw all of them drunk... that New Year's Eve surely was no pleasure.

"We're screwed!" Michelle cries out in exasperation.

"Honey, calm down," Sam holds up his hands in a calming way.

Michelle sighs, "Best would be if we simply canceled it, I guess, huh?"

"We can go some other time and celebrate it later," Sam suggests.

"Might be for the best...," Michelle shrugs. It's a pity. That is actually an anniversary they don't miss if they can help it somehow, that and the wedding anniversary of course, but both agreed that they should do their best to hold up at least such appointments and dates. With their kinds of jobs... you have to hold on to such things, keep it special.

Marty suddenly stands in the entrance to the living room.

"Something wrong, kiddo?" Sam asks.

"You two wanna go out tonight?" Marty asks.

"You really have the ears of a bat," Michelle chuckles.

"Well, you're right," Sam nods, "but we forgot to make arrangements, so we'll just do it another time."

"If you need a babysitter... I can do that, too," Marty argues, "I mean, if you have no problem with me babysitting the girls, that is..."

"We know that they'd be in good hands, Marty. But you're our guest," Michelle smiles.

"It doesn't bother me. I mean, the girls are great fun. I like hanging around with them, so...," Marty shrugs. He likes hanging around with Jasmine and Marie. And if that means he can repay Sam and Michelle for their kindness in some way, he'd love to do it.

"But still, we can't ask you for that," Michelle argues.

"That's no problem to me, I mean... we can play around a bit, grab a bite, watch a movie, and then they are in bed by nine, right? Not that much of a big deal," Marty insists.

"Well...," Michelle grimaces, but Marty goes on, "So it really doesn't bother me. If you have plans for the night and you trust me to watch them... you know, might be the best option after all."

Michelle turns to Sam, hugging her arms mindfully, "What do you think, honey? I mean, we had this planned in a month... and to get a table again will take some months, actually."

"I have nothing against it, but before we say anything, I'd rather talk to G," Sam replies, "I don't know if he's okay with Marty having the house to himself. You know how he is."

"And you really wouldn't mind?" Michelle asks, "Sam and I can just as well stay home, sugar. That's no bother to us either."

"To me it's no bother to babysit. Is actually something I missed for some time," Marty admits sheepishly.

"How's that?" Sam frowns.

"Well, I did that a lot, you know, taking care of smaller kids, even before the streets. I actually spent a few hours a week at a neighbor's house to babysit their daughter and son, just for the fun of it. I just love kids. They are great fun and... sometimes I think one can really learn a lot more about being a good person looking at a kid than to looking at an adult, but," Marty shakes his head, this is leading too far, "that's not the matter. I didn't get to do that in a long while now, with all the changes here. I kinda miss that though, you know?"

Sam studies the teenager, and he can see that Marty really means it.

"Okay, let me phone G little quick and hear what he says," Sam nods.

"Okay," the teenager beams at him. This might work after all!

Sam goes into the kitchen while hitting speed dial.

"Sam? What's wrong?" Callen asks hastily as he picks up the phone.

"Nothing, nothing," Sam assures him quickly. Of course Callen thinks that something must be wrong when people call. _Agents_...

"Good, you gave me a scare when you called back that early already," Callen huffs, easing back down. It's driving him nuts that he doesn't know exactly what Marty is up to.

"Yeah, no, I actually gotta ask you a question," Sam says.

"Shoot," Callen replies.

"Michelle and I have our anniversary for first meeting today... and we both forgot it. We had a table in a restaurant – but now we have no babysitter. Marty's said he'd volunteer, but I wanted to know how you think about this," Sam tells him.

"How long would you be gone?" Callen asks, and Sam can't help but smile: his partner is interrogating him.

"Just like... three hours?" Sam shrugs.

"And you wanna know if I'm fine with Marty being without someone to watch him for the time, that correct?" Callen questions.

"Yeah, just wanna know what you think. If you have anything against it, we'll just do it some other time, no bother. Is just... he actually wants to do it and... I think that maybe it'd do him good to show him that we trust him? I mean, he's supposed to feel normal and all. And...," Sam explains, and Callen completes, "Babysitting is quite a normal thing."

"Right. And Marty's just told us that he misses babysitting coz that's something he did a lot, even before the streets," Sam adds.

"He mentioned that to me," Callen nods.

"But it's your decision. You tell me. I'm fine with either choice. I just wanna know your opinion," Sam explains.

"I don't know," Callen grimaces. It's ridiculous, but G would rather hide his brother in a bunker to have him to himself.

"You don't know what?" Sam questions.

"Is just... I know I shouldn't be thinking like this, but...," Callen fidgets for the words, but then Sam gets it, "Hard time letting go?"

"Got it right, but don't say to anyone I said that out loud," Callen chuckles, "Either way... you might have a point."

"So?" Sam puckers his lips.

"If it's really no longer than a couple of hours, then I'm fine with it," Callen declares.

"And you're sure?" Sam asks another time.

"Yeah, you're right. Might be for his best, actually. I mean, I'd love to watch him all the time, but he already told me that I'm a bit too...," Callen grimaces, and Sam completes, "Clingy?"

"I wouldn't put it like that, but... it's true," Callen admits, "But even if I have a hard time letting go and all... I guess I have to practice, kinda, and so does Marty. Could be a good starter for him."

"He'll get pocket-money for it, so we all benefit from this," Sam smirks.

"Alright, then you two have fun," Callen grins.

"Thanks, man," Sam nods, "Alright, talk to you later."

"Bye," Callen nods and hangs up. Sam walks back into the living room.

"What did he say?" Michelle asks as he comes back.

"G gave his okay if we don't stretch it," Sam confirms.

"Awesome," Michelle chuckles.

"And of course Marty gets the weekend pay – coz he volunteered so fast," Sam declares.

"Right," Michelle agrees.

"You don't have to pay me," Marty shakes his head. They give him shelter and food, right?

"You babysit, you get paid, easy as that," Michelle insists.

"But...," Marty grimaces, but Sam intervenes, "No arguing."

"Alright... if it makes you feel better?" Marty grimaces... he never heard that people _force_ other people to get paid. It's a mad world at times, really.

"It does," Michelle winks at him.

"Alright, then we'll get ready now," Sam nods.

"Sure," Marty shrugs.

The two head upstairs to get ready for the date and soon come back downstairs, now in evening wear. Marty is busy throwing little foam balls at the girls they are supposed to dodge. Of course the teenager delivers the right soundtracks to boost the girls' imagination so that they really sound like magical spheres flying through the room, or stones, or... whatever else. They laugh their hearts out at the action as they dodge and run for cover.

"Wow," Marty turns around as he catches sight of Michelle. She wears a short cocktail neck-holder dress in dark violet with silver sandals and a black bolero jacket.

"Hey, that's my girl," Sam chuckles playfully.

"No doubt, but I think I can say that Michelle's looking stunning in that outfit, just like Whitney Houston," Marty explains with a smirk.

"Hear that? _That's_ a nice compliment, Sam," Michelle grumbles.

"... What did _you_ say?" Marty makes a face.

"Not too bad yourself?" Sam grimaces, though he can't help but smile at it also.

"Ouch," Marty winces.

"It _was_ a compliment," Sam insists.

"You don't say that to a Lady, right, girls?" Marty turns to the children, who scream out, "No!"

"You heard the judges," Marty shrugs with a smile.

"Okay, now that we discussed that my husband can be a brute at times," Michelle declares, "there's stew in the fridge, you just gotta heat it up."

"Alright," Marty nods. He can work with microwaves and stoves, especially microwaves. When you live with G for only just a week, you learn that almost _anything_ can be cooked in the microwave.

"And there are brownies in the oven. If the girls play nice, eat up, and don't throw around with food – or hide their veggies, they can have some of it," Michelle smirks.

Marty: "Sure," Marty nods.

"We're at Romano's. The address and telephone number are next to the phone. We'll tell them that they are supposed to tell us immediately if you call," Michelle goes on, and Sam adds, "and we have our cells on, too. So you can call either number. Michelle's number is on the list also. And you've got mine on speed dial."

"Okay," Marty nods.

"Alright, sunnyboy, then we come to the rules," Sam declares.

"Yes, Sir," Sam makes a mock-salute.

"The girls are allowed to stay up till nine, if they behave. We will give you a call when we leave the restaurant so that you know we're on our way. You don't open the door for anyone. We have a key, so not even for us. If it's getting too much or you get problems of whatever kind, you call us and we'll be back in less than fifteen minutes. If you need to talk to G, you are free to use either phone and talk to him for as long as you have to, or use your phone, whatever you like. On the nightstand are all important numbers: As already said Romano's, Michelle's, mine, G's, Keith's, Richard's, Nate's, if you forget or so, fire department, police, poison control center, the neighbors, the office, all the others of the team...," Sam runs down the list.

"Alright," Marty snickers... he doubts that they will have to call the poison center, but fine, it's Sam's house, so it's Sam rules.

"You may watch a movie, but no splatter movies or so," Sam goes on.

"But we like splatter, daddy," Marie insists. Marty makes a face. That is actually the first time he's heard a little girl like Marie say that... and mean it.

"I know, sweety, but that means we got no longer fairies running around, but little makeshift Freddy Kruger and Chucky from Child's Play. It's freaky," Sam shakes his head. Marty looks at them quizzically, but Michelle explains, "Last time they sneaked around by night and we didn't realize they were watching along... four weeks of Hannibal Lecter."

"Really?" Marty laughs. The girls just climbed one scale higher to him. That must have been fun to watch.

"Friggin basket down from first story and they kept on screaming at us to put on the lotion," Sam shakes his head. Marty can't hold back a snort of laughter, picturing that scene.

"It took us a lot of negotiation and unicorn movies to get that outta their system again," Michelle shakes her head.

"I'll just make them watch SAW," Marty assures mockingly.

"No messing around," Sam warns him.

"Sorry," Marty smirks.

"Got everything?" Sam asks, and Marty nods, "Yeah."

"Alright, then we'll be gone," Sam waves.

"Thanks again," Michelle smirks.

"Not for that," Marty smiles back at her, "Have a good night!"

"We will," Sam nods, "Bye girls!"

"Bye mommy, bye daddy!" the two cry out cheerfully.

"Bye, girls, have fun – and behave," Michelle warns them.

The two leave. Marty turns around, letting out a sigh, "Took them long enough."

However, Marty can understand that. They care for their children, and funnily enough, they care for him so much also. And even if it's a bit annoying at times... the teenager really starts to like it. Marty turns around to the girls, speaking in a purposely bad British accent, "Princesses? Are we yet to serve the grand meal?"

"Yay!" the girls cheer.

"Alright... then you two make sure the Mini Gum Balls are back in the Magical Box so that they don't come out to attack us again," Marty advises them.

"Okey-dokey!" the two salute, gathering the foam balls back together.

"Good... okay... let's see what that stuff is that Michelle prepared...," Marty mumbles, scratching his scalp as he walks up to the fridge. He takes out the stew, grimacing at the odd color. He knows Michelle is a good cook, but stew, seemingly, tends to have a greyish color, something most kids don't fancy. Marty bites his lower lip. This will be hard to sell. He heats the stew up and fills it into bowls. And sadly, it still does not look very appealing.

"Princesses? Dinner is ready!" Marty calls out. The two come up to him.

"Jazzie? Think you manage to take your own bowl, I forgot my third arm over at the office?" Marty asks her, and Jasmine nods frantically, "Sure."

"Good, then let's head to the Royal Dining Table, my dear Princesses!" Marty declares ceremoniously. He sets them at the table, but the girls seem little impressed with the stew. Marty knows it tastes really good, since he tried it when heating it up, but it is rather grey in color. Kids don't like grey. He didn't like grey either, when he was smaller. It still makes him think of metal, rainy skies, thunder, and asphalt. Those are not really good things.

"Well, the mother witch left us with something. This is a stew named Stu," Marty explains. The girls start to giggle at that.

"So, why are the Princesses not having any of Stu?" Marty questions.

"Stu's... icky," Marie scrunches her nose.

"Oh, of course, Princess Marie. My bad," Marty nods, "We forgot the most important ingredient!"

He grabs the salt shaker, puts some in his palm and then makes some odd gestures and whooshing sounds to give it a theatrical quality before sprinkling it into either bowl, "What would Stu be without some magical dust?"

The girls look excited as they start to eat, this time they take spoon after spoon, satisfied with the bit of magic in form of a pinch of salt. He puts some more magical dust into his own bowl as they continue to eat. Once they are done eating Stu, each one gets a good chunk of the brownie before they return to the living room to play some more.

"You gotta sing again, to fight back the monsters," Jasmine insists.

"Jazzie, c'mon," Marty rolls his eyes.

"The Princesses gotta fight the evil meanies, Marty!" Jasmine argues. Marie joins her sister and nods her head frantically, causing her curls to bounce up and down.

"Alright," Marty exhales. He starts to hum _Highway to Hell_, figuring that they don't know the song anyways. For as long as it works, it probably doesn't make a difference that he chooses that over some child's song. Truth told, he doesn't know those. His parents weren't into it, and in the streets, there is no one into it, and if that person is... you should probably stay the hell away from him. So Marty takes what he does know, and that's Rock and Heavy Metal. The girls twirl and fidget around with their magical wands, perfectly out of rhythm, but nevertheless adorable. Marty has to play his fair share of flight assistant: he lifts them off the ground and makes whooshing sounds so that they can _fly away_. Then he has to playa mountain to roll over, or whatever else it is they come up with. He can't say no to those two, really...

After some time, they seem exhausted and flop down next to Marty on the couch, leaning their heads against his shoulder.

"So, what is it now, Princesses?" Marty asks.

"A story!" Marie suggests loudly.

"No movie first? I mean, bedtime story you tell when you go to bed," Marty shrugs.

"I want the bedtime story _now!"_ Marie declares.

"Alright, if that's what you guys want. Then you tell me which book and then I read it out to you," Marty shrugs.

"No!" Jasmine cries out.

"What?" Marty frowns. He actually thought that the girls would instantly search for their favorite book and slap it in his face to read it out.

"We know all those stories!" Marie rolls her eyes.

"That's the point in reading them, you know?" Marty smirks.

"We want a new story!" Marie pouts, hopping up and down in her seat.

"Did your momma buy you a new book or so?" Marty asks.

"Tell us a new one!" Jasmine replies.

"I don't know any classical bedtime stories, girls," Marty grimaces. Honestly, he doesn't know actual bedtime stories, _at all_. His mother had no money to buy him storybooks and the few that he got read to or read himself in school weren't really what he accounts for as a bedtime story. When he babysitted his neighbors' kids, he didn't feel confident enough in his reading to read out to them, which is why he simply talked to them. Even when he was in the ring... by night when the kids were crying, he'd simply start to talk, made up the hugest of castles in the air, created colors where there were none, brought to life animals that will never walk the face of earth. So no, he doesn't know the classics.

"Make it up," Jasmine shrugs, to which Marty frowns, "What?"

"Invent it. Make it up!" Jasmine gesticulates.

"Yeah, make it up already!" Marie nods.

"You are bossy," Marty knits his eyebrows.

"Big please, Marty!" Jasmine begs, and Marie joins instantly, "Huge big double please, Marty."

"How could I resist that, huh?" Marty chuckles, and the girls cheer, "Yay!"

"Alright, you two grab your blankets while I'll gather myself," Marty claps his thighs. The girls quickly wrap their blankets around themselves as Marty tries to come up with something, "Okay, so... how do you start that?"

"Once upon a time," the girls say simultaneously.

"Right, so... Once upon a time there were two strong and beautiful young princesses, Princess Jasmine and Princess Marie from the Nicis Country," Marty begins, and both almost jump in excitement, now that the story is dedicated to them, "But you must know, the Nicis Country is a small country. It lies way, way behind the far-stretched seas of Langeles, behind the soft green lands of the Fairy Country, and the high-topped Sugar Mountains."

Really, gladly none of the others is around to hear that...

"The princesses ruled the country with all their might to make life the best. All inhabitants of Nicis lived in prosper and praised the princesses for their good hearts and great powers. Yet, not everything was peaceful in Nicis, for Nicis is neighboring with a country called Bugger Land. And in Bugger Land, people were not as happy, since they were under the rule of the evil Queen Henrietta, whose heart was frozen by the ice of winter long, long time ago," Marty goes on dramatically. He just hopes that Hetty didn't install video cameras here to overhear him.

"Ever since, the evil Queen had set out to capture the princesses to take over Nicis. So the Queen set out her most vicious and most meanest creature of them all, a monster named Mas. Oh, and Mas was one awful monster, arms as thick as tree trunks and as long as Boas. Gnarling teeth and a raking smell coming out of its snout. Golden eyes as huge as saucers. Bulky legs and over with muscles and brown fur," Marty tells them, making weird faces. He looks around once to be sure Sam and Michelle don't walk in on them. Sorry, Sam, the girls make him!

"Queen Henrietta sent him out to gather the princesses. He surprised them in their chambers as night fell and the moon was standing high. He grabbed them, but the princesses didn't just give in, of course. No, they fought, threw magical dust at him and used all their powers, but they were surprised by the second intruder, GG the Shadow. He had the power to disappear into the shadows, any shadow, morph into it, and jump out just as the right time," Marty explains... so now, sorry, G, too!

"So they both took the princesses captive and brought them to Bugger Land, to the evil Queen's castle. Queen Henrietta decided that they shall be brought to the Giant Towers. The Towers were guarded by one Dark Knight named Kensalina," Marty explains, if he involves Hetty, Sam, and G, then there is no sense excluding the others now, "a warrior princess kidnapped and put under a spell by evil Queen Henrietta. In front of each door were one dwarfs each, Nelly and Rick. The princesses had no other choice but to call for help, so they used their magical powers to send a call out to their Silver Knight."

"Sir Martin!" both cry out excitedly, which causes Marty to chuckle, "... Alright, Sir Martin it is, then. So Sir Martin heard their call and immediately saddled his horse and rode all the way from Nicis to Bugger Land. He fought his way to the castle and then to the towers, slaying whatever mean creature came his way, driven by his sheer devotion for the princesses. Sir Martin was able to break the spell that captivated Princess Kensalina inside the black armor once he hummed the anthem of her country, to which her heart warmed up again and the armor fell from her."

She likes music after all!

"She thanked Sir Martin and swore to help him free the princesses. So both ran up the tower. Kensalina then fought Nelly while Sir Martin went after Rick. But they managed to overpower them once they destroyed the little monitors on their chests. That is when they remembered where they came from, and they, too, had clear and light hearts again. The four now freed the princesses from their cellars," Marty goes on.

"At first they wanted to flee, but the princesses, in all their courage, agreed that they had to free the others from Bugger Land also. So the group set out to the castle to find Queen Henrietta and her two servants Mas and GG. The two tried to attack them, but Kensalina and Sir Martin held them at bay while the princesses approached the evil Queen. The princesses unleashed their greatest magic. They took each other's hand and chanted the chant given to them by the ancestors, the strongest chant ever created. The Queen screamed and pouted, but soon she was absolutely helpless against the princesses' powers and the ice surrounding her heart melted. She cried her first tear ever since the hard winter that took all warmth from her. And once the tear had fallen, she was free of her evil mind, and with her, all creatures she had taken under her spell returned to their original form. The Monster Mas returned to being a bear while GG returned as a bow hunter from the villages whose origins no one knew and won't ever. Queen Henrietta apologized to them and thanked the princesses from the bottom of her newly found heart for their kindness and bravery. The three empresses agreed that Bugger Land and Nicis should be united, since both used to belong to Nicis once, before the winter that froze Queen Henrietta's heart had occurred. And so, a few days later, there was a huge celebration at the princesses' castle and all friends, old and new, came to celebrate the victory and the peace that now was everywhere in New Nicis. And so they lived happily ever after," Marty finishes. The girls are totally excited, even if already a little tired.

"That was the awesomest story ever!" Marie giggles joyfully.

"Good that you liked it, but now we have to make a pact, you two," Marty declares, straightening up a bit to get their attention.

"What pact?" Jasmine frowns.

"This is a secret story, and no one, really no one is supposed to know about it. So you have to promise that you won't ever tell someone about this story," Marty looks at them seriously. The guys will give him hell if they find out what characters he made of them.

"Okey-dokey," both agree hastily.

"Great. Alright, then let's watch some movie so that you get real tired and sleep well," Marty suggests.

"Splatter movie!" the two call out. Marty rolls his eyes, "That's not gonna happen. Daddy said no... so... what else do we have...," Marty grimaces as he looks at the DVD collection.

"I don't want the pony movie again! No!" Jasmine cries out vehemently.

"No!" Marie agrees.

"Why no pony movies? Ponies are pretty?" Marty grimaces skeptically.

"Pony movies are _so_ from last week," Jasmine rolls her eyes dramatically.

"There's also... one about mermaids?" Marty tilts his head.

"Not before next week," Marie argues. The teen makes a mental note to figure _that_ system out...

"Alright, that's of course _very_ reasonable... uhm... princess movie?" Marty goes on.

"We just had a princess story," Jasmine argues, and Marie adds, "We can't double."

"No, we definitely can't double," Jasmine insists.

"How could I ever consider that," Marty chuckles, "but after that it's kinda getting thin here."

"Splatter?" both ask again. _Geez_, the two really like those!

"No, girls, stop asking me," Marty cries out, "Alright... Then... ah, how about this one? You like big cars, don't you?"

Both nod frantically. He figured when they wanted to engage in the guessing cars during breakfast. And their dad loves cars, so that stands to reason.

"Great, the Fast and Furious it is, then. It's PG 13, but... let's see... you are four, you are six, that makes ten, and we are three people... that makes thirteen."

"I don't think it works like that," Jasmine grimaces.

"You want to watch the Pony Movie instead?" Marty threatens her, but Jasmine already holds up her arms in surrender, "No, no, no, no! That one's perfect!"

"Alright, Fast and Furious it is, then," Marty shrugs. He starts the DVD before he sits back down. The girls ease against him as the cars whoosh over the screen. Soon they fall asleep, softly snoring against his chest and he is relaxing at their soft breathing. He blinks against the light from the screen, slowly drifting off. This day was... eventful, even though nothing much happened.

Marty startles awake as an odd noise comes from outside. He looks at the clock, it's still too early and Sam said they'd call before they came back, so no way it's them. The sounds are now at the door. So no neighbors either. No, he'd know. No one is talking. There is metal clicking, and it doesn't come from keys. It must be some strangers – and they might break in. _Oh God_!

Marty shakes the girls awake and softly murmurs at them, "Princesses?"

The two lazily look at him.

"Marty, what...," Jasmine grumbles tiredly, but Marty interrupts her in a whisper, "Shh. Shh. Just listen to me. Sir Martin needs your help once more. There are some monsters that came from Darkness Land. They are at the gate. So you have to get up to the chambers into the secret tunnel system now while I'll keep them distracted."

"The ventilation shafts?" Jasmine blinks at him, and Marty nods, "Right, I want you to go there, close the lid and stay there. Jazzie, I want you to take your sister's hand and don't let go, this is your protection chant, remember? And don't make a noise, or they will know where you are, and then the magic doesn't work properly anymore. So make sure they don't hear you. Do not come out before I call out for you. You don't come out unless I tell you so, no one else. Is that understood?"

The girls nod and run upstairs. The teenager pats his pocket where his cell should be... but of course he left it next to the phone. Who leaves his cell next to the phone?! _Great_. He glances to the door, and he can hear someone picking the lock. Marty quickly grabs the baseball bat hidden behind one of the cupboards before he makes a run for the phone, as suddenly the door breaks open and three men dressed in black and with ski masks jump in... three men with giant guns. Marty stops dead in his tracks as the men instantly lock the way to the phone. _Oh crap_!

"Hey! Hey! Help! I need help here! Hey!" Marty calls out, hoping that someone hears wants to get the neighbors attentive, but that is when the guys draw their guns and aim them straightly at him. He quiets at that, fearing that they might shoot him if he doesn't.

"What do you want?" Marty asks, keeping his voice leveled. Never show fear. _Never._

"None of your business," the first man grunts.

"Look, if it's money you want, then I just...," Marty stammers, but the second one interrupts him harshly, "Shut up and don't move."

The third of them suddenly lunges at him. Marty instantly reacts and rams the baseball bat into the man's stomach. The others now start to attack, too, but Marty scrambles away to the oven. He fingers for the switch. The second approaches and wants to grab him, but he slams the cupboard door right in his face. The third man is short up behind and towers over him, but Marty grabs him by the lower arm, yanks him forward, turns over and manages to maneuver him on the oven, where his clothes instantly catch fire. He yells at the one Marty hit with the bat to get the girls. Marty doesn't waste a second, but to go after that guy who is already on the stairs. Marty hurries after him, jumps on the railing once he's reached him to get in front of him and tackles him down. They tumble down the stairs. The other two come back upon the sound, aiming their guns at him. Marty figures that they have orders not to shoot him, otherwise they would have done that by now. He fights the other one off, raises his arms in surrender and walks over to them, but then kicks on his heel and then attacks them with the knife in the boot. The guy is caught off guard. The other one fires, but Marty manages to yank the rifle up so that the bullets go into the ceiling. The third one tries to attack him, but Marty rolls over so that the man falls over him, solidly colliding with the floor. He glances at the kitchen to see that one of the cloths for cleaning the dishes caught fire on the oven and it starts to spread quickly. He makes his way into the kitchen, panic tugging at him. He wants to douse the flame, but that is when the second tries to knock him down. He and Marty crash into the table with the keys. Marty almost blacks out, but when the man wants to punch him, he knocks one of the table legs into his temple, knocking _him_ to the ground, unconscious. _Suck that_! Marty grabs his cell off the ground, glad that it didn't break and starts to click as the other two approach him. The fire starts to spread, Marty notes with growing desperation. The third one tries to shoot him, but Marty manages to grab the switch for the light, momentarily confusing the men as suddenly the lights go out. The teenager scrambles away into the darkness, away from the fire. The men are short up behind him, but Marty manages to scramble behind the couch, waits for them to haul over to him, but then flips the piece of furniture over by jumping on the back-rest. He runs to the fire, in the motion grabs a stick from the broken table, yanks the tablecloth off the ground and wraps it around the wood to hold it into the flames. As the other two come back around, shots ring again.

"What? Ya wanna threaten us with a makeshift torch?" the first one huffs. He wiggles his shotgun at the teenager. Marty stands there for a second, unmoving, before he rams it into the window he is standing next to to throw the torch through it.

"What now? You just gave up your weapon!" the other huffs.

"People may not react to loud noises, but they react to... fire," Marty shrugs. The men gaze as the fire starts to spread outside.

"Fuck!" they cry out. Marty uses the moment of distraction to run past the other two, over to the stairs. He had to leave it out of sight before and he is afraid the other man got up again, which he did. _Damn_! Marty panics and rushes upstairs. He finds the man searching the kids' rooms. Marty, not knowing what else to do, simply jumps the man from behind. They ram into the walls. Marty has to hold on as tight as he can and grabs the jumping rope off the cupboard. He throws it around the man's throat and pulls. The man fully yanks his back against the wall to shake the teenager off, but Marty holds on until the man slumps down because of the lack of oxygen. He quickly pushes the man facedown into the ground and ties him with the skipping rope. That is the moment the others come in, guns raised.

"Where are the kids?" the first one demands, gritting his ugly teeth.

"Is just me, already told you," Marty argues.

"Right, black family with blond son?" the man huffs.

"... adoption," Marty shrugs. One whips his rifle against the teenager, knocking him to the ground. Marty, somehow, manages to use the momentum of falling down to push over the ground and ram his boot-knife into the calf of the man who just hit him, sending him to his knees. Marty then uses the other leg to knock him to the ground. That is when the sirens shrill through the neighborhood.

"Told you," Marty manages to smirk. The man sneers, realizing that he won't get out of that, so he takes a lucky shot and fires all over the walls and the ground. Marty cries out "No!" He told the girls to hide in the ventilation shafts. He curls in on himself for cover. Suddenly the shots stop and the man falls forward, unmoving, and the police swarm in. They secure the men. Marty stares at the room, over with gaping and smoking holes, "No, no, no, no, no..."

* * *

Cliffhanger, _da-dam_!


	24. Rest for the Knight

Author's Note: Hey guys! Thanks for the great reviews! I worked really hard to post the next chapter soon so that the cliffhanger doesn't leave you hanging for too long ;)  
Anyway, I hope you'll like it.  
Read, review, and enjoy ;)

* * *

Marty still stares at the scene that just unfolded in front of him. Oh God, no! No, no, no, no! That can't be! That mustn't be! Oh God! Where is that guy when you need him?! If God wants to screw with him, _fine,_ but not with the others, oh please! Please! _Please!_

That is the moment Sam and Michelle run into the room. Michelle is crying. Sam's eyes are searching, his face a straight line. Marty shakes badly as he makes it to his knees.

"Where are the girls?!" Sam demands as their eyes meet.

Marty wants to say something, anything, but fails. The words just won't come out. Oh God, oh God, oh God! He bites back a sob.

"Girls! Come out! Girls! Jasmine, Marie! Girls!" Sam cries out, looking around. There comes no answer, Sam starts to panic, so he turns to Marty again, "Where are they?"

Marty just stares, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of the water.

"Where are the girls, Marty?!" Sam curses desperately. Marty can't move a muscle, his hopes already faltering. Oh God. What if they... please, no. And the day was good. The day was great. Everything was fine. They ate together, watched the movie and... played... princesses... Right! They played! Marty cries out atop of his voice, "Princesses! Time to come out! Is okay to come out! Now come already! Princesses! Come out! The battle's over! The knight's won! Come out!"

Please, please, please, God! Just do something, anything! Make this miracle happen!

That is when you can hear noises from the wall – and two girls climb out of ventilation shaft, as though nothing ever happened, perfectly healthy, not even scared... they actually giggle! Laugh! They breathe! Live! _Thank you, God!_

"Oh my God," Michelle cries out from behind, hand covering her mouth as the tears well up anew. The parents rush over to their girls as they climb out of the shaft and embrace them tightly. Michelle kisses their foreheads, strokes their hair, tears streaming down her face.

"Mommy, why are you crying?" Jasmine frowns at her.

"I'm just so happy to see you," Michelle smiles through the tears.

"Did you miss us that much, really?" Marie blinks at her.

Michelle: "Yeah," Michelle laughs, not knowing what else to do and simply holds on tighter again.

"That was the best game ever!" Jasmine cries out, "there were even sound effects!"

_Sound effects_...

Marty falls back on his below, his legs no longer supporting him. He draws his knees up to his chest, his eyes still wide in fear and adrenaline riding off. He mumbles something incoherent to himself, bobbing back and forth. God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

The paramedics make their way inside. They go to the girls first, but Michelle says that they have nothing. The paramedic, without another word, goes on to Marty, who is not looking all too good: pale, shaky, freaked out of his mind, bloody, dirty. When the paramedic wants to touch Marty, the kid just draws away with a hiss.

"I'm here to help you, kid. But for that you gotta let me check you over," the paramedic tries to assure him. Upon hearing that, Sam finally processes that the girls weren't alone here... and that Marty might be hurt. Sam lets go of his children and comes up to Marty, who is still struggling away from the paramedic. He kneels on the ground in front of the teenager.

"I gotta treat him, but he won't let me," the paramedic informs him, and Sam replies, "Give him a moment. I'll handle it."

The paramedic backs off.

"Marty?" Sam asks tentatively. The teenager is still busy staring into nothing.

"Marty? This is me, Sam. Can you look at me?" Sam tries again. Marty bites his lip as he finally manages to look the man in the eyes, if only just slightly.

"Okay, that's good. That's the way," Sam coaches him. Marty runs a shaky hand through his messy hair, pulling hard.

"Can you tell me a number?" Sam asks, licking his just shakes his head. He doesn't know what number would account for that.

"Okay, is fine, but everything's okay now. They got the bad guys. Everything's good now," Sam tries to soothe him.

"I'm sorry," Marty mutters, which causes Sam to frown, "What?"

"Is my fault. They came for me, didn't they? I'm so sorry. So sorry," Marty whimpers. It takes a moment for Sam to process this, but then he gets it. Marty thinks the men came for him and tried to kill the girls because of that.

"No, Marty. It had nothing to do with you," Sam assures him hastily. The teenager now glances at him fully, still trembling, "What?"

"They are most likely minions hired by the guy who's hurt G. It had nothing to do with you that they came here," Sam reassures him. Marty lets out a shaky breath of relief, "You mean that?"

"Yeah," Sam nods. They are not sure yet, but... it's the best explanation anyway... and the worse, too.

"Girls okay?" Marty asks, his eyes wide.

"They are fine. Absolutely fine. They didn't get hurt at all. They think it was the best of games ever," Sam says.

"... the, the fire! Oh God!" Marty covers his mouth with his hands. He wants to rush to his feet, but his legs protest. Sam holds on to him, "There ain't a fire anymore. It's all covered, kid. Nothing's happened. It's already doused and you should just sit still."

"... I set the fire to burn that guy... I'm sorry... I destroyed your house," Marty blinks at the Senior Agent. He destroyed this perfect house. He destroyed this safe haven.

"You saved my children," Sam argues. He holds on to the teenager even tighter, pulling him into an embrace. Marty doesn't even seem to realize. Marty simply lies in Sam's strong arms like a dead fish.

"But...," Marty stammers, but Sam stops him, "And the house's fine. Is just the stove, no more. Everything's gonna be okay. You saved the kids, that's all that matters."

"... he shot right at the ventilation shafts. I should've told them to go to the... goodness," Marty breathes. He could have given them so many orders that would have been better. If only he had gone for the cell first. Just what was he thinking?!

"Hey, hey, hey, kid! Now you focus on me. Focus. On. Me," Sam looks at him sternly. Marty glances at him, trying to keep his gasps at bay.

"You saved them. That's all that matters," Sam says.

"... I ruined the...," Marty brings out, but Sam interrupts him again, "Marty, that's all just things. Things can be bought, replaced. Whatever. All that's important is that the girls and you are safe. Okay? And you are. All of you."

Marty licks his lips, still breathing hard.

"Thank you for saving my girls," Sam breathes, allowing emotion to show. This time Marty actually manages to pat the older man's back. Sam can't help but smirk, "Will you let the paramedic have a look at you now? You have one nasty gash to the head that should be checked out."

Marty nods slightly. Sam nods at the paramedic and Marty lets the man deal with his injuries.

"Marty, I'm just over there to talk to Michelle. Yell if you need anything, okay? I'm right here for you," Sam assures him. Marty nods as the paramedic starts to assess his injuries.

"How is he?" Michelle asks as Sam walks up to her.

"Shocked. I think the injuries ain't all too grave, but that's up to the paramedic to decide," Sam shakes his head.

Michelle shakes her head, "... how did they know about our house?"

"They must have tagged me some time the day. I don't know... I'm sorry," Sam breathes. That never happened. Never happens. Sam takes different routes each time. He takes all measurements necessary to prevent exactly that, still... still they got to them.

"Not your fault," Michelle shakes her head.

"I'll call the others to make sure they are okay," Sam says. They already called Hetty on the way to their home, and she called Kensi to make sure they are alright, with artillery in tow,_ of course_. Hetty suggested that they tell security in the hospital, but only talk to G once they cleared the situation.

"Okay. I stay with the kids," Michelle agrees. Sam nods before walking into the hallway, "Hello? Kensi?"

"Hey, anything new?" Kensi asks worriedly. She almost fell off the couch when Hetty called her and gave her the briefs.

"Everyone's alright, no one too badly hurt, safe for the bastards who broke in," Sam informs her, "you?"

"We had someone creeping down the street, but we took him down before he could do harm. Seems to be more of a point man, though. Guns are raised. Eric's under the sofa, we're okay," Kensi informs him before she asks, "Did you talk to Callen yet?"

"No... he's next on my list. I just wanna have him talk to Marty, so I gotta wait for the paramedics to clear him," Sam grimaces.

"Anything you need?" Kensi asks.

"A do-over for the night, if you have one," Sam huffs.

"Once I have a time-machine, I'll borrow you that thing first," Kensi nods. The situation is too grave, then sometimes a joke helps, a bit.

"Thanks. Till later," Sam nods.

"Bye," Kensi says. Sam hangs up before walking back inside. He walks over to the paramedic treating Marty, "How is he?"

"The cut's not deep, no brain trauma. He has some first degree burns on his right lower arm, and some cuts, too, but they don't need stitches. There is no soot in his airways, but he inhaled a bit of smoke through the nose, so he will most likely have a little cough for a while. You should have an eye on his breathing to be on the safe side, though I don't see a problem. He bruised his knee, the shoulder's also tight, but that just needs some heating pads and rest. But he'll be okay. You're just supposed to get him some rest and to have the wrapping for the arm changed and cleaned daily. And you should watch him for the night to see if he gets dizzy spells or if the coughing gets too much. If either thing happens, hospital. If not, you're good to go," the paramedic informs him.

Sam nods, "Thanks."

The paramedic leaves them alone. The Senior Agent turns to the teenager, "Marty? I'll call G now. You wanna talk to him, too, right?"

Marty nods his head hastily. It's not even a question, that little guy is rightly freaked, and the only one who can possibly calm him now is his big brother. Sam hits speed dial for G's phone, "G?"

"Sam? What's up?" Callen grimaces, "Security is patrolling here. Did something happen?"

"It did," Sam admits. No way to deny it.

"What?" Callen demands.

"While we were out, someone broke into the house. I think someone of the team that attacked you," Sam explains.

"What's with Marty?! And the kids! What's with Marty?" Callen stammers, already sitting up in his bed. That can't be possible, can it?! How much bad luck can happen to them in _two_ friggin' days?!

"G...," Sam wants to explain it to him, but then he can already hear Callen messing around with his bed sheets and IV-line, "Wait! I'm coming over now..."

"G, now _wait!"_ Sam orders, "They are all fine, please, stay wherever you are. Marty's fine. He's fine, he's alive, so stay, for goodness sake!"

"What. About. Marty?" Callen demands. Really, how is he supposed to stay calm when his little brother was in a friggin' ambush?!

"Paramedic's already seen him and said he just needs to rest, some minor injuries, bruised knee, no hospital needed," Sam assures quickly.

"Gimme to him," Callen orders sternly. Sam licks his lips. Callen is perfectly furious, but in that threateningly cool way... the worst kind of G-anger. Of course he is understandably so, yet... this is certainly not what his partner wanted. Sam just wanted Marty to have a taste of normalcy, babysitting, having the house to himself... and see where it got them. Really, "epic irony" as a headline is wearing off. This is simply _ridiculous!_ One should just cut the kid a break.

"Marty? G wants to talk to you," Sam says and hands him the phone. Marty takes it, even if his hands are still shaking.

"Marty?" Callen asks, or rather curses. He just has to hear Marty's voice.

"Hey," Marty says faintly.

"Hey," Callen breathes out, and the anger deflates. That is Marty on the other end of the line. He is alive. _Alive._

"You okay?" he asks quickly.

"Paramedic's said I'm okay so far," Marty nods.

"Are you?" Callen questions.

"... I guess," Marty shrugs.

"Marty, don't do this to me," Callen pleads, "let me in. Tell me."

"I ache, but... It's not too bad, really," Marty replies credibly.

"How's it standing about the mental part?" Callen sighs.

"... I'm just... I don't know...," Marty grimaces. His brain still feels disconnected.

"Tell me a number," Callen says.

"Five, I guess...," Marty shrugs.

"Five?" Callen blinks. He actually expected something ranging between... five million and... a trillion, maybe ten?

"Sam says the girls are fine and... I don't like... totally freak. I did before, but now it's better, I guess. I mean, I talk to you," Marty grimaces. He fears he isn't making much sense now, but Callen gladly understands him, "Right. Good. So it's five."

"I don't know, G. Maybe it's six, maybe it's four and half... My head's just...," Marty grimaces.

"If you feel dizzy or...," Callen wants to say, but Marty interrupts hastily, "No, no, no, not as in dizzy... there's so much inside my head now."

"Yeah, I know, I know," Callen sighs sympathetically, "do you want to talk to Keith or Richard?"

"I guess I won't come around it, but not... now," Marty grimaces, "I just need... a bit time to breathe."

"I know, buddy," Callen grimaces. How much he wished to be there now.

"Thanks," Marty whispers, biting his lower lip.

"... you want me to come to you?" Callen asks. If Marty says yes, he's in the elevator in less than ten seconds.

"No. I'm... I'm okay," Marty replies.

"I can sneak out and can be there in twenty minutes or so," Callen offers.

"Please, don't," Marty argues.

"Marty...," G sighs.

"Please. Don't," Marty repeats, now actually with a bit of strength again, "Please, if you come and you get worse coz of it, I'll only feel bad. I don't need that now, please, G. I can't... just stay there."

"Okay, fine. Whatever you want," Callen exhales.

"Thanks," Marty nods.

"Okay, so you listen to what Sam says, alright?" Callen says in a soft voice, and Marty agrees, "Yeah."

"We'll talk 'bout this once we're... face-to-face, alright? And you call in case...," Callen goes on, but Marty completes, actually with a smirk, "Yeah."

"I'm sorry, kiddo, for all of it," Callen pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Not your fault," Marty argues, and Callen replies, "And not yours either. Okay, gimme back to Sam another time, alright?"

"Okay, G," Marty nods.

"Bye, Marty. Love ya," Callen bites his lower lip.

"Love ya, too. Bye," Marty whispers. With that he hands the phone back to Sam, "He wants to talk to you."

"Thanks," Sam smirks at him. Marty nods, withdrawing to his thoughts, mulling this over another time.

"Yeah?" Sam answers the phone.

"... How did this happen, Sam?" Callen asks the one-million-dollar-question. He presses thumb and index finger against his eyes. His head hurts so bad he could hurl.

"I don't know. I honestly don't. They must have tagged me, but... I don't know how on earth they did that. G, believe me, you know how serious I take it with security measurements, but... I'm so sorry that...," Sam stammers, but Callen interrupts him, "It could've happened to anyone... but I really don't think we should have that conversation on the phone. You just watch out for Marty, will you?"

"I won't leave him outta sight, not another time. I promise you," Sam assures.

"Okay," Callen replies drily. Sam winces. G is beyond mad at him.

"You want me to bring him by?" Sam asks.

"Only if he needs it," Callen grimaces. He would rather have him over, but that is just his personal wish. Marty must be exhausted anyways. To make him drive there won't do him any good. And as he knows Marty, the kid would still refuse to sleep in a hospital bed. He hates hospitals.

"Yeah. Okay. I'll keep you updated," Sam nods. Really, he hopes G will forgive him that.

"Alright," Callen says.

"Talk to you later," Sam says.

"Bye," Callen nods. With that he hangs up. Sam lets out a sigh. That was hell all over again. Now he didn't just let it happen that his partner got stabbed, but thanks to him, seemingly, a bunch of criminals almost killed his brother. This is too messed-up to be true. Sam looks over at Marty, who is sitting on the ground.

"You okay?" Sam asks worriedly.

"My legs just... kinda _died,"_ Marty makes a face.

"Yeah, adrenaline will do that to you," Sam smirks sympathetically, "The others are gonna be over here in a bit to investigate."

"Oh... okay...," Marty nods.

"We should get ya downstairs," Sam offers. Marty grimaces. The teenager doesn't see it happening with his legs... and stairs...

"C'mon, hop on," Sam says as he kneels down in front of Marty with the back to him.

"What?" Marty makes a face.

"I'll get you to the chaise lounge downstairs. Your legs won't support you, and you're not supposed to strain the knee, so I give you a lift. Now don't be a crybaby about it," Sam huffs playfully. Marty wraps his arms around Sam's neck and he easily lifts the kid up. They make their way downstairs and Sam helps the teenager ease down on the chaise lounge. Marty looks around, licking his lips, "... it looks not as messy as I thought it would."

"How's that?" Sam frowns.

"Last part was in the dark. I thought we had knocked more things over... okay, kitchen aside," Marty shrugs. Inside his mind, everything was in flames and destroyed, but now... it looks still like a total mess, but... it could be worse, _right?_

"You fought them in the dark?" Sam asks, to which Marty shrugs, "Distraction. And in contrast to them I knew where the furniture was, so I thought it might be good idea. I mean, I already slept here once, so... I know where things are. They didn't."

"Good call," Sam puckers his lips, impressed. He knew that Marty had some fighting skills down. After all, he witnessed it when they took up the ring, but it amazes him that such a soft and kind kid like Marty can pull this off, just like that. Others take years of training to get to the point.

"Desperation is what I call it," Marty snorts, he just reacted, "I just clutched at straws."

That is the moment Kensi and the others walk in through the still broken door. Kensi snakes her arms around the teenager once she comes up to him, "Hey. You okay?"

"If you let go of my arm, yes?" Marty winches. Kensi holds up her hands in surrender, "Oh, sorry."

"Is okay. Thanks," Marty smiles. He is just glad to see them.

"You gotta be. We still have a basketball match ahead of us, and you're on my team this time, remember?" Kensi smirks. Marty nods at her with appreciating eyes. It's nice to have someone at least trying to be normal about this mess, chaos, madness... horrible madness.

"What happened to your kitchen?" Eric makes a face.

"I did," Marty huffs. Sam glares at Eric. Now is not the best time to go on about how destroyed the house is. After all, the Senior Agent is still pretty sure Marty blames himself tons, for no reason, of course, but that's just the way this kid operates, as G points out very often and very explicitly.

"What did you do?" Kensi asks.

"I... when the guys came in, I wanted to... to get to the phone, but didn't reach it, so when they attacked me, I... I went for the kitchen, knocked one in the head with the cupboard door, and the other one I burned with the oven. Bought me time... but also set the kitchen on fire," Marty grimaces.

"Wow. You're a smart little cookie," Kensi snickers. She always has to remind herself: G Callen's little brother... Marty can't be anything else but a machine when it comes fighting. She ruffles his hair, "I didn't like that color anyways."

"Where's Hetty?" Sam asks, and Nell tells him, "Still talking to police and ambulance."

"How are the girls taking it?" Nell asks Sam, but before he can answer, Michelle comes in with the girls in tow, "They thought this was a live-action role play."

"LARP-buddies," Nell jokes and holds up her palm for high-five, which the girls gladly return.

"Marty!" Marie squeal cheerfully once she catches sight of the teenager. The girls rush over to Marty and sit with him on the chaise lounge. Marie scoops into the place right between his legs.

"Kids, Marty's hurt, so...," Sam grimaces, but Marty quickly interrupts, "It's fine."

The girls giggle as he starts to mess with their hair affectionately. The teenager visibly eases at the physical contact, as though this was his first real reassurance that they are fine, which is why no one argues about them staying close to him.

"So... how did you get the girls away?" Kensi asks.

"We just continued our story from before, with the two princesses, didn't we?" Marty smirks at the children.

"Yay! It was so exciting in the tunnels, and I wasn't even afraid!" Marie smiles.

"Yes, you were!" Jasmine lectures her.

"Are not!" Marie pouts.

"Are, too!" Jasmine retorts.

"But we already escaped through it earlier, when we ran from the castle of... of... N...," Marie fidgets for the words, and her sister scaffolds, "Nicis."

"What?" Kensi makes a face.

"Nicis, the castle where the princesses were taken by the monster," Jasmine explains.

"Monster Muzzle," Marie nods.

"It wasn't Muzzle, you dummy, it was Ma...," Jasmine wants to correct her sister, but Marty interrupts her, "Girls, we talked about how we don't share that story."

"But she's asked," Jasmine argues.

"I asked you before, so that double-counts. C'mon," Marty smirks.

"But...," Jasmine wants to object, Marty interrupts her again, though, "Now don't leave me hanging here."

"But you told us that Queen He...," Marie throws in, but Marty quickly covers her mouth with his hands, "We are no longer in the story, girls, back to reality, right now. Ow!"

He grabs his knee as he turned to fast. Michelle comes up to them, "Okay, girls, I think it's time for you to grab some sleep. You're sleeping in our room."

"But we're not tired, mommy," Jasmine argues.

"I will knock you out if it has to be. C'mon, you two, enough action for a night. Let's give Marty some space," Michelle orders them.

"But Mommy!" Marie pouts.

"Girls, now. Off you go," Michelle points at the staircase. The girls hop off their seats.

"What do you say?" Michelle demands, and the girls cry out simultaneously, "Thanks, Marty!"

Marty pats them on the heads another time, "Wouldn't have managed without you guys. Night."

"Night-night," the two salute, and Michelle ushers them upstairs, "Okay, upstairs, you two."

They disappear again. As they do, Hetty comes inside, "Mr. Deeks. How are you?"

"... roughened up, but okay. Thanks... what about the...," Marty grimaces, and Hetty completes, "The bastards who came here? They will live... even if... once I have my hands on them... barely so."

"So now... what happened here, Marty?" Kensi asks. They have to figure this out.

"Whole story?" Marty asks. All nod.

"That will take a while," he warns, but Kensi encourages him, "We have the time."

He bites his lip, the pictures coming back to him like needles in his skin. Kensi gropes his lower arm for comfort. He lets out a shaky breath before he begins to tell the story, "The girls were already asleep when I suddenly heard people approaching the house. I knew that Sam wanted to call after he left the restaurant, but he hadn't. So I was suspicious. When they started messing with the door, I woke the girls. So that they wouldn't get too upset I told them that we were playing a role play, to hide in the ventilation shafts and stay there until I tell them to come out. Which is why they didn't come out when you called, Sam, by the way. I didn't think they'd go that far, really, to keep up the role play."

"Good thinking," Sam smirks. That saved them.

"... I grabbed the bat I knew behind the cupboards and then wanted to grab the phone. I left my cell next to it. Stupid me."

"Marty, it's amazing you were that sharp to send the girls there and get armed," Kensi argues.

"Well, that's when they came in, with guns and they blocked the phone. I tried to get attention from the neighbors by yelling out loud, but they pointed the guns at me, so I didn't continue. They didn't say what they wanted. I made it to the kitchen somehow, and burned one with the oven. Good thing they wore those clothes out of synthetic fiber. They easily catch fire. Well, one made his way upstairs, so I rushed after him on the staircase... I got ahead of him and pushed him back down," Marty shrugs. It sounds just so mad once you spell it out. This was _insane!_

"How did you get in front of him?" Kensi makes a face.

"Huh?" Marty blinks at her, so she explains, "You just said that you were after him on the stairs. How did you get in front of him to tackle him down?"

"I... jumped on the railing and then past him to get out front. I wanted to make sure he doesn't just slip away back upstairs. And that way I had better chances that I don't hit the ground, but him, coz I was atop... kind of skateboard move," Marty replies. Kensi nods, puckering her lips. Yep, definitely G's brother.

"So, we tumbled down the stairs," Marty goes on, "The others came back and aimed their guns at me again. But it's weird coz they didn't shoot me, then."

"Why's that?" Nell frowns, but Hetty explains, "They most likely had orders not to shoot Mr. Deeks. Otherwise, sadly, they would have gunned him before."

"I got away from the one I had tumbled down the stairs with and faked surrender to get close to them. Then used my boot to knife one of them," Marty explains.

"I really have to get a pair of these," Kensi snickers.

"The other one wanted to shoot me for real now, so I yanked the rifle up. I went for the kitchen again, but then one of them knocked me down into the table by the door and I hit my head on the edge, which is why I have the cut here. The guy wanted to punch me, but I grabbed a table leg and hit him right in the temple with it. Surely saw the stars after that one. That's when I got my cell and texted Sam," Marty explains.

"Right, you wrote HELP," Sam nods.

"Well, the others wanted to shoot me now, so I switched off the lights to distract them. I already told Sam that it was the only advantage I saw, coz I knew where things stood, in contrast to them. I went for the dark part of the living room by the couch, got behind it and when they were close enough, jumped against the back-rest to knock it over and run right into them. I saw that in a movie, admittedly... From there, I went to the fire and improvised a torch. I broke the window with the elbow and threw the torch out," Marty goes on.

"To get the neighbors attentive? Smart," Kensi nods.

"Thanks... so anyway, after that I ran past them and to the stairs. I blocked the stairs by throwing over some furniture to hold them off for a bit. Of course the bastard had to go for the girls' rooms," Marty grits his teeth, his voice shaking throughout the last bit.

"I didn't know what else to do, so I just jumped him from behind. He tried to get me off. I got my hands on... on a skipping rope and... and...," he explains, knotting his hands together. Kensi gently rubs his upper arm for comfort.

"I... choked him out, and tied him up with the rope. That's when the others came. One face-whipped me with the weapon again. I fell to the ground, but then I used my boot again, kicked him, knocked him to the ground. That's when we heard the sirens. But then the last one... he just snapped and then he... he shot everywhere. I... ducked away... for cover... coz I couldn't get to the girls... I really thought that he...," he bows his head.

"But he didn't," Sam reminds him.

"Yeah," Marty sighs. He didn't. Whatever scenario Marty imagined, it didn't come about. It didn't happen.

"What a situation..," Hetty shakes her head, "Well, we had teams down to either apartment – and two men were caught breaking into your home, Ms. Blye, but they didn't get to it, since we intervened. Another two were caught near Mr. Beale's residence, and are in preventive detention now."

"They will pay for that," Kensi grits her teeth. Not only an attack on their team leader, but now on little children?! Their children?! That's not happening, and heads will roll!

"Most certainly," Hetty agrees.

"It's scary how close they got to us. That never happened before," Nell grimaces.

"Well, there must be a bigger network," Sam shrugs. That's the only way this makes sense.

"But the guys didn't seem to be as talented," Kensi argues. No, she just had to tackle the one tagging her to the ground. And even if Marty pulled one hell of a stunt... if this had been real badass assassins, Marty wouldn't have stood a chance, that much is for sure.

"Pawns," Hetty shrugs.

"Probably this was supposed to be an act of scaring the crap out of us," Kensi suggests.

"It worked on me," Nell grimaces, hugging her arms.

"But that means that they are clutching at straws. The guy just randomly shot around when he realized that police came. A real assassin wouldn't do that. He would've shot at Marty for real," Kensi argues.

"She's right," Sam agrees.

"Yet, it is thanks to Mr. Deeks's fast reaction that no one else was severely hurt," Hetty changes the topic swiftly, and Kensi joins, "Right, little agent, eh?"

She turns to him, just to find the teenager hunched over, fast asleep, "I bet me must be exhausted outta his mind."

"Well, to fight three grown men with guns without much weaponry at the age of fifteen... yeah, that takes guts and energy, tons of it," Sam shakes his head. This still sounds too surreal to be, well, _real._

"But now he gets the rest he really deserves," Kensi smirks.

"I think the plan is clear, however. We will destroy this group or network, whatever it is. I will see all of you at the office tomorrow, the earliest possible. And you will go home now," Hetty says sternly.

"But...," Kensi wants to object, but not with Hetty, "There is nothing we can do at this moment. All of us are distressed. All attempts to shut down the network now would be futile. We should return to the task with our best abilities."

"Yeah, you're right," Kensi nods. Hetty knows best. Hetty _always_ knows best.

"Then let's go," Nell shrugs. The three tell their goodbyes and take off. They know better than to object Hetty.

"Mr. Hanna, on a word?" the petite woman suggests. They go a little away from Marty not to wake him.

"Honestly, Hetty, I don't know how they caught up to me," Sam says right away.

"Mr. Hanna – I know. And I don't blame you. All were tagged," Hetty assures him, but he argues, "Except for you."

"Of course," she smirks.

"So... what's the issue?" Sam asks.

"I just wanted to let you know that there will be protection detail outside the house until this is cleared. And I don't want to hear any backtalking on that," Hetty says, but Sam agrees, "I'm fully with you. Those bastards almost got my kids – and they got to Marty. The hell! Without him, they would have been... dead... for sure."

It's still hard to grasp. Those men were inside his house. They attacked Marty, they could have killed him, and they could have killed his own children. His fists tighten when he goes through that. He'll tear them apart, shred for shred, that's for sure.

"Then we should count ourselves lucky that you decided to take Mr. Deeks to your house," Hetty smirks, but Sam objects, "Would've been better if I had just stayed home."

"And Mr. Callen would have done better not to stand where the man stabbed him, yet, we can't change the circumstances anymore. No one saw it coming, even I didn't, Mr. Hanna," Hetty argues.

"I just hope that G forgives me that," Sam exhales.

"If he was a little rough to you on the phone, it was mostly because of the shock, Mr. Hanna," Hetty assures him.

"I know, it's just," Sam sighs, "This is Marty we're talking about. This kid has seen enough crap, and already had to deal with almost losing G. This is just too much bad stuff happening in that little guy's life, don't you think?"

"Sadly... Mr. Deeks is a very unfortunate young boy. Someone must truly try to test him to his limits," Hetty shakes her head.

"Still amazes me he didn't reach them yet, as it seems. I would be at my breaking point since ages," Sam shakes his head. Really, how Marty pulls through, even now... it's simply impressive.

"Mr. Deeks is stronger than most people I know. Which is why I think that he will be okay soon again. So now, I'll return to my home as well. I think you have everything under control?" Hetty says, to which Sam nods, "Yeah."

"Good. I'll see you in the office, then," Hetty replies.

"Might be I'll be running a little late. I will drop Marty off at the hospital before I come. I think those two need to see each other more than desperately," Sam says.

"I agree. So, goodnight, Mr. Hanna, or what's left of it," Hetty grimaces.

"Bye. And thanks," Sam nods.

"Take good care of Mr. Deeks," Hetty waves.

"Of course," Sam smirks. With that the petite woman leaves. Sam lets out a sigh as his wife walks back in, "So you guys will clear this?"

"Yeah, NCIS is still in charge," Sam nods, "The girls?"

"Asleep," Michelle smiles, but then leans against Sam's chest, looking at Marty, "He saved them."

"He did," Sam agrees.

"He seems so small when he sleeps," Michelle grimaces. Now you realize just how young Marty is. When he tells them about what he did to defend the girls, you could take him for an adult, but when he sleeps... just a fifteen-year old boy again.

"As Hetty is living proof, the size doesn't matter," Sam smirks.

"Did G train him that well already?" Michelle asks. To fight three gangsters, by himself... that takes some skills, a lot of them, actually.

"No. Neither one of us taught him how the hell to do that," Sam shakes his head.

"If he decides to become an agent, he'll be great competition for you," Michelle snickers, "I would definitely hire him for my agency once he's old enough."

"If at all, he joins NCIS," Sam chuckles.

"Is that so?" Michelle huffs playfully.

"That is so," Sam smirks.

"Pity," she shrugs, "Either way. I will bake the hugest of cakes for him – and once he's better, hug him for an entire week, if he likes it or not. We owe him."

"Yeah," Sam sighs. Really, he will always be in Marty's debt from this day on, "We should get him into bed."

"The guest room is still in one piece," Michelle suggests. Sam walks up to Marty and kneels down out front. He recalls what G told him about the kid. So Sam follows the procedure, "Marty?"

Then he shakes him lightly by the upper arm and waits till Marty is around again.

"Huh?" the teenager frowns at him groggily.

"I'll just take you upstairs to your room so you can sleep, more comfortably. Okay?" Sam says in a soft voice. Marty nods his head lazily. Sam guides the teenager's arms around his neck and takes him up again to bring him to the room, Michelle short up behind them. Sam eases him down on the bed. Michelle takes off the boots before she tucks the boy in. Marty is already back to sleep as she covers him. Sam knows that normally he would fight all that back because of embarrassment, but now he is just too tired, and he damn well deserves the sleep. Michelle strokes a few strands out of his face affectionately, before stroking over his shoulder another time, "Good night, Marty."

But the teenager is already in peaceful slumber. The two adults walk back outside, but leave the door open, for when Marty needs something.

"You should sleep, too," Sam tells her, "I'll be there in a bit. I just wanna call G another time to tell him about what we know. That guy ain't sleeping anyways, not until Marty's with him."

"Okay," Michelle nods, kissing him on the cheek as she makes her way into the bedroom. Sam makes the call to give G the updates. The hospitalized man is more than shocked to hear about the conspiracy as well as Marty's battle skills. Callen knows that Marty had skills before meeting him – and that those skills are from fighting for survival, but that... impressive.

When Sam hangs up, he goes to bed, holding his family as close as he can.

G tries to make himself comfortable in the bed, but fails. He glances up to the ceiling, his thoughts revolving around this one thing: Marty.


	25. When Hands Don't Shake

Author's Note: Thank you, thank you, triple thank you for the nice and encouraging feedback.  
I'm sorry I take a bit longer with the posting... those term papers are a pain in a**. I would love to hand in my fanfiction as term paper, that would make it _so_ much more fun.  
Anyway, I don't remember if I said that before, but I admit it again: I'm not the greatest crime-writer. I'm working on it also through writing this story here, so you'll have to bear with me. I have a bigger plan in mind (far, far, far away...) and I hope I make this work, but there is still some figuring out to do... so many possibilities, so many chances and so little time... ;)  
I hope you'll like it either way.  
Read, review, enjoy ;)

* * *

The next morning, Marty opens his eyes as the sunlight hits his eyes. He lets out a groan as he sits up, his body protesting at every movement. _Adrenaline will do that to you_, he calls back to mind as he runs a hand over his face. Marty can hear the other downstairs talking – and he lets out a sigh when the realization hits him again that he managed to keep the girls safe. They didn't die in that ambush. They are alive and talking. They are all alive. That's all that matters. That _has_ to be all that matters.

He straightens up and tests his knee, feeling a dull ache when he puts weight on it. The teenager walks around a few steps, happy that he won't have to wear a crutch, but will be fine just carefully walking. Marty puts on his boots before he goes over to the stairs. As he wants to walk down he realizes that this gives his knee still aches. He looks at the railing another time, before he decides that this might be the better option. He sits down on the rim and swiftly slides down the stairs as suddenly Sam comes into view, gasping, "Marty!"

The kid looks bewildered for a second as he stretches out his left arm to hop over the pole at the end, swiftly landing on the unhurt leg.

"What are you doing?!" the man cries out. Really, he will have enough explaining to do that the kid got hurt while babysitting. That he falls down the stairs and breaks his neck is no option.

"Getting down the stairs," Marty knits his eyebrows.

"But why didn't you...," Sam grimaces, to which Marty shrugs, "Walking's okay, but walking the stairs kinda hurts my knee, so I went for this."

"You could've called and I would've gotten you down," Sam argues.

"I do that all the time, really," Marty smirks. And that is true. Sam rolls his eyes, even though there is a smile on his lips, "Okay, fine. How are you?"

"Sore, but... good," Marty shrugs.

"Good. Wanna have some breakfast?" Sam offers.

"... I burned your kitchen down," Marty makes a face, so Sam explains quickly, "I got some takeaway this morning. C'mon, you must be starving."

He pats the teenager on the shoulder as he walks into the dining room where the girls are already munching pancakes.

"Morning Marty, how are you?" Michelle beams at him.

"Good, thanks," Marty nods.

"Marty, have some pancakes! They are awe-some!" Marie yelps cheerfully. Marty has to chuckle. It's so great that the children are okay... and that they are so cheerful. Cheerful is good. Cheerful means happy. And they should be happy.

"I bet, muffin," he snickers.

"Marie, stop tossing them around,those ain't frisbees," Sam lectures the girls, "Jasmine, stop that!"

He already proceeds to the table where the girls are messing with the food.

"Marty? Can I talk to you for a second, next door?" Michelle says as she comes up to him. Marty frowns but then nods. They walk into the hallway.

"What is it?" he asks curiously. But that is when Michelle is already kneeling in front of him and hugs him tightly, eyes tightly shut. Marty stares for a second, but then eases to her touch.

"Uh...," Marty makes a face, but Michelle already says, "I'm sorry, I know you don't like that, but I just have to. You saved my two baby girls. You are my personal hero and we are standing in your debt till the day we die."

She pulls away to look at him, "I just wanted to properly thank you."

"You're... welcome," Marty licks his lips, flashing a shy smile.

"Not all teenagers would go that far, you know?" she says

"I'm not like most teenagers," Marty snickers.

"No, you're definitely special," Michelle smiles. She tousles his hair.

"Sam saved G, too, does all the time... when he's in trouble. And for that I thank him, too. I mean... thanks to Sam I still have him. So ugh, I'm glad that I could... help," Marty shrugs. He gave it some thought ever since G was hurt. If not for the team, Marty may never have met his brother, because he could have died on a mission. So he can't help but feel gratitude for Sam and the team. They made it happen that they could meet.

She claps him affectionately on the cheek, "G is so lucky to have you."

"I'm lucky to have him... so we are lucky to have each other," Marty shrugs. He is long for as long as G is good. That's the way he lives.

"Okay, emotionally crazy mom is gone now," she grins, wiping a sole tear away, before she flashes the brightest of smiles again, "let's head back, shall we?"

Marty nods. The two rejoin the others.

"I actually thought you'd sleep through the day," she grimaces.

"Nah, was too... _busy_ last night," Marty shrugs.

"... how did you get down the stairs, by the way?" she frowns, to which Marty can't help but chuckle, "You two think very much the same. That is kinda creepy."

"That's when you live with someone for too long," Michelle shrugs with a smirk.

"Too long?" Sam makes a face, but then ignores the comment, "Marty slid down the railing."

"Oh my!" Michelle grimaces.

"I'm really good at this. I even do it over at G's apartment, like... all the time," Marty admits.

"I bet he hates you for that," Sam chuckles.

"Well, to me it's... uhm... _normal_, I guess," Marty explains, "Before I got to stay with G... this was my usual routine. I mean, down to the sub and all, us streetkids always did it like that coz it's faster and... brings fun."

Marty did that when he was with a group of other children, before the time in the ring, of course. They were brought back to their parents about a month later, but the month they had was real fun. They goofed around and pulled stunts like this. One boy, his name was Daniel, had a skateboard and he taught Marty how to use it. That was too cool to be true, really, and one of the few good memories he has of his time in the streets. Back then, he felt normal, if only for the few seconds it took him to slide down the railing. It was a taste of freedom, of fun, joy.

"When I did it the first time at G's apartment, he straightly wanted to grab me and yank me back, almost knocking me down. I mean, I don't have balance problems, but if someone grabs you with the Paw of Death, you kinda lose it," Marty goes on, chuckling at the memory.

"You fell?" Michelle grimaces.

"Nah, I balanced out and then stopped halfway. G was really mad and said I almost gave him a heart-attack," Marty explains.

"Yeah, kinda with him on that one," Sam grumbles, causing Marty to smirk, "Well, so he tried to forbid me at first, but then realized that I'm really good at this... and... now we both do it."

"No way," Sam cries out. G Callen doing _that?!_ No way!

"Sure," Marty nods frantically, "I'm still holding the record for speed, though."

"That guy, really," Sam shakes his head. Once again, it just shows that Marty changed his partner, in a good way, a _very_ good way. Sam only hopes that he didn't destroy this thanks to this ambush, though. It would be an absolute pity if G lost that, thanks to him.

"Good thing when your brother's also competitive, then you get him into challenges faster," Marty shrugs.

"He's gonna get that in his face some time soon when he calls one of my actions reckless again. Ha!" Sam jokes. He doesn't want Marty to see that he is actually... _worried..._ to face G, after what happened last night. He still thinks his partner might raise his gun at him.

"Oh my, I just sold him out," Marty chuckles, but Sam assures him, "There's worse."

"... how bad is it with the kitchen... and the lawn?" Marty asks. Right, there was that...

"We'll have a mechanic over today, but as far as I see things, we'll just have to get a new oven and some new furniture for the kitchen. And I wanted to get a new kitchen anyways... right, honey?" Michelle smirks at her husband, who grimaces, "You must know you did her about the hugest of favors with this, coz I said we wouldn't get one until the old one is broken."

"Ah, I can see it in front of my eyes... maybe peach this time," Michelle taps her chin with her index finger mindfully.

"No colors named after fruit," Sam argues.

"Well, and as for the garden. We'll only need a new bush... but I hated that thing with all my heart anyways, so again, you did me much of a favor," Michelle smirks. It's really minor compared to what they were able to keep, the children, namely. Yet, it's also true, she hated that thing.

"What? It was a normal bush," Sam argues, but Michelle retorts, "I swear to God, since you planted it, there's more weed than ever!"

"You're just imagining things," Sam shakes his head.

"Then it's good," Marty smiles. He is glad that even in that chaos, normalcy seems to be able to survive. Sam and Michelle joke. The girls toss pancakes around. Life is good. Because it's, well, alive.

They finish up breakfast. Marie and Jasmine pout for a while after their parents cut the pancakes into tiny pieces, so that they couldn't use them as frisbees anymore, but after a bit of whining, they are back to the game and start to goof through the house.

"Okay, I think we'll be heading out," Sam smirks.

"Okay, be careful," Michelle nods, giving him a chaste kiss.

"Will do. C'mon, Marty," Sam says. The teenager follows his lead, "Bye, everyone!"

"Bye!" the girls and Michelle reply. Marty and Sam leave the house and walk to the car.

"Where are we heading?" Marty says once they are on the road.

"To your brother. He's itching to see you," Sam declares.

"Yeah... me, too," Marty admits. And God knows he is! Sam smirks as he makes his way to hospital. He walks Marty to the room where Callen is snarling at an orderly. That guy surely didn't sleep at all and is one bucket full of sunshine this morning. Marty stands there for a second, unsure.

"You can just go in," Sam smirks at him. Marty nods before he goes inside. As Callen's eyes find the teenager, his features instantly ease. The nurse takes his leave.

"Hey, buddy," Callen greets him, trying hard not to sound teary. Marty stands there, unsure once again, but then just runs up to him and wraps his arms around Callen's shoulders, careful to avoid the stab wound. The older man pats him on the back and his head, kissing his locks a few times, visibly relieved to finally have him by his side again. Callen can actually feel a lot of tension fading from his features once he has physical contact with the kid, breathing in his scent, feeling the touch of his hair, seeing the bright blue in his eyes. He didn't lose him. Thank God.

Callen's eyes wander off to his partner, who is smirking at that. G mouths a thank you over Marty's shoulder. Sam nods before he walks off, figuring that those two need the time by themselves. They can still talk later.

"I'm so glad to see you. You okay, buddy?" Callen asks. Marty draws away a little, glancing at him, "... yeah."

Callen takes in the amount of damage, each bruise making his skin itchy to kick that certain someone right in the nuts for daring to hurt him. Marty is still a little pale, but who can blame him after the shock, really?

"How are you?" Marty asks cautiously.

"Better now that you're here, kiddo. I think I can get released tonight or tomorrow. I'm going insane here," G smirks.

"You were stabbed," Marty insists. Stabbed. That means a knife in your stomach. A _knife!_

"Yep, but there are those funny sheets you can sign," Callen snickers.

"But please don't sign out AMA just coz of me, G. You're hurt, badly," Marty argues frantically, but Callen explains, "It's worse than it looks, okay? And if I weren't up for it, be sure Hetty wouldn't allow."

Marty studies his face, before he warns him, "I'll take you up on that."

"Is that a threat?" Callen smirks.

"Might be...," Marty shrugs. The older brother chuckles before he moves a little to the side. "Hop on."

Marty simply obeys and sits on the rim. Both enjoy the closeness. It feels... _normal._ And that is nice.

"So," Callen begins, "real conversation now. How are you?"

"I'm okay," Marty assures. G looks at him, cocking an eyebrow at the teen.

"I didn't have a panic attack. I was okay with Michelle hugging me... it's alright," Marty explains.

"What about calling up Keith or Richard?" Callen asks.

"We agreed that I only have to talk to them if I'm panicking or if I want to. And now... I don't want to. I... I just wanna be here, not in some private room to talk my feelings. It's not like I will escape this forever, but... maybe at least for now?" Marty pleads.

"Okay," G nods. By now he knows pretty well when Marty is lying about his condition, at least he gives himself that much credit by now. He grins, "I'll take you up on that."

"Alright," Marty smirks back at him. It feels good to be back to this state of... chaos. Marty falls silent after that, lost in thoughts. His wrists flex involuntarily.

"What is it?" Callen asks in a soft voice.

"Dunno... is just...," the teenager shrugs.

"What?" Callen questions another time.

"... is nothing," Marty shakes his head.

"Marty, now look at me," Callen demands sternly. The teenager turns his head to face him.

"I know nothing, that's not nothing. Just tell me what's wrong," Callen argues. It might be that sometimes he doesn't know what's going on inside the teenager's head, the hell, he doesn't know on most occasions, but a thing or two he knows already. And one thing is that he knows when there is actually something on Marty's mind that's bothering him.

Marty licks his lips before he speaks up again, "... I hoped I would never have to do that again."

"Do what?" Callen questions.

"... fight like that," Marty whispers, "It was just... just like out in the streets. I mean... when... when you just fight for..."

"Life?" Callen provides. Marty nods his head, "It feels different. It's not like... boxing or whatever. It's raw and bloody... And all I could think was... was how to protect the girls. No matter what the costs."

"And what's wrong about that?" Callen questions.

"I could've killed at least one of them, I could've _killed_ him," Marty grimaces.

"Marty, first thing: you didn't," Callen argues, "Second, even if you had, this would've been to protect the girls and you – and there's _nothing_ wrong about that."

"I choked this guy out, G. I... I mean... what if I hadn't pulled back in time and...," Marty bites his lower lip. Callen grabs his shoulder, "You pulled back, Marty."

"... I'm just going this through again and again... and then I think... what if he had gotten the girls and... would I've still been fine just tying him up? Would I have...," Marty grimaces, his voice no more than a whisper.

"... normally that's no question you should be asking yourself, at that age," Callen grimaces. Really, Marty has to answer questions not even most adults have to think about. Whether they would have killed another person... or did... if you sacrifice your life for someone else... if you'd pull back in time... those aren't questions people should be asking themselves.

"Not the first time," Marty mumbles. Callen glances at him, so the teenager goes on, "... I did some bad stuff out in the streets. Like... _real_ bad."

"What do you mean?" Callen asks cautiously.

"I thought that when I went away... that I wouldn't have that anymore, like... I hoped that I could go through this without...," Marty grimaces, not finding the words.

"Using violence?" Callen provides.

"That," Marty nods. He knows that his older brother is aware of the shooting, though that his all Marty will ever say about the matter. So G knows that violence wasn't unfamiliar to Marty, even before he was in the streets.

"How long did it last?" Callen questions.

"... two months, eight days, twenty three hours...," Marty says. He could even tell him the minutes, seconds. That is a night he'll never forget, and God knows he tried.

"What happened?" the older brother asks, so Marty goes on, "... At first I camped in an empty warehouse downtown, as far away as I could get. I didn't know about how to rotate buildings by that time. I was just so stupid. Either way... it was... my place, had my stuff there and... one night, I came back and just wanted to sleep coz I felt hungry and thought that sleep would serve as a remedy. But when I came to my room... there was this guy in there, maybe seventeen. He just grabbed me and yanked me to the ground, said that his gang owned the place and I polluted it. I wanted to leave, but he wouldn't let me. He started to punch me and... and I heard the others coming after him, to help. I panicked. And then... I... I just kicked him in the groin, coz even when I didn't know much 'bout fighting, I knew that this _always_ hurt... well, and then... I just hit him with that brick that lay on the ground, in the nose, in the stomach, the cheek, the chest. I didn't even hear him scream or cry. Inside my head there was just this thud, again and again... then the others came in. One of them raised a gun at me. So I jumped out the window, landed in the dumpster below, and ran off."

"Did he die?" the older brother questions, but Marty shakes his head, "No. I saw him about half a year later, much taller, and as the boss of a bigger gang. He still had the scar from the broken nose I gave him."

"So you didn't kill him, Marty, you pulled back," Callen argues.

"Coz I got interrupted," Marty replies.

"Still, you did," Callen says.

"But... I didn't know that, until I saw him. I thought he was dead. I thought that I had killed the first person back then. I thought that... for that half year I was convinced that I already was a murderer," the teenager admits, and Callen has to swallow, hard, "But you weren't."

"... I didn't know. And so... in that half year I dug into the deepest holes I could find so that I wouldn't hurt anyone again. I was so damn afraid I might do it again, you know... that this was... in me. That it had been in me all along," the teenager grimaces. This reaches back far further than he will admit to his brother now, but it remains. Marty is afraid that this is in him, was there all along, and just waits for the right opportunity to come back out to play its vicious game.

"My hands didn't shake," Marty grits his teeth, glancing at his knuckles.

"What do you mean?" the older brother blinks at him.

"That's what upset me, already back in that warehouse. My hands just won't shake. They never do when I... when I fight. They just won't shake, no matter what I do. When I knifed Carter... my hands were as steady as ever. When I hit that brick against the guy's face... I could've threaded a needle. My hands won't shake," Marty admits. _His_ didn't shake either, the teenager reminds himself.

"But...," Callen grimaces, but Marty already carries on, "I wasn't trained when I was in the streets. Adrenaline should've gotten my hands shaky each time. They didn't shake, _ever._ And when I choked out that guy yesterday... not at all. My hands won't shake when I use them for that purpose. And that's _freaking_ me out. They are shaking now. They shake when I'm nervous. They shake when I am afraid. But when I punch something, someone, when I destroy, hurt... then they don't shake at all. And that makes me believe that this is when it kicks in. That it's in me, after all, and comes out only when I fight, coz that's what these fists are meant for," Marty exhales shakily.

Callen stretches his arm out to catch Marty's wrist and draws it back to them, "Maybe adrenaline will normally do that to you... but it doesn't always. As for us agents, the one who owns a situation is the one whose hands don't shake either. That means you don't miss the target. You have it under control. You think, then you shoot. You analyze a situation before you go in and produce chaos. And some are natural at this, people like you. Kensi the same. I know her records. Her hands won't shake either. It is instinct, to you, but it's also your will to survive. Because your brain knows that there's something worth living for, and that instinct protects it, for you. In that warehouse, that guy could've killed you. So you knocked him out. You protected your life coz it was still dear to you, and _thank_ _God_ it was. When you knifed Carter, you did it for the same reason – and because you didn't want another child to suffer through that. And when you choked that guy out, you did so to protect the girls. This is not killer instinct, it's protection instinct. That your hands won't shake just shows how serious you take it with protecting what's important to you."

"But it can turn into the other quite effortlessly," Marty argues.

"It won't," Callen shakes his head. "How do you know?" Marty makes a face. He doesn't know, and he is the one experiencing this, right?

"Coz I know," Callen shrugs. Marty shoots him a glance, but then the older brother goes on, "I know that someone who saves fifteen children out of a prostitution ring at the risk of his own life, who risks his life again for a stranger who would've been gunned down by the Pusher in this prostitution ring, who saves two little girls of his brother's friend at the cost of his own life... that person won't turn darkside, no matter what the circumstances. You didn't until now, so you won't do in the future... and if nothing of that convinces you... I'm still there to yank you back from the cliff."

"You're wrong about one thing, though," Marty says.

"And that is?" Callen frowns. He actually thought this was pretty convincing and... emotionally loaded.

"You weren't a stranger to me when I stopped the Pusher. I knew your name," Marty smiles at him.

Callen can't help but smirk. He pats the teenager on the back.

* * *

Meanwhile over at the NCIS, the team gathered in the Ops to discuss their latest findings.

"So, what did you get from the interrogations?" Nell asks Sam and Kensi. They spent the entire morning interrogating those bastards, and Sam had to give it everything he had not to punch them all for what they did not only to G's family, but also to his own, so to the family at all. That was one of the reasons why Hetty decided that Kensi should handle the guy who stabbed G.

"About... nothing at all," Kensi sighs, hugging her arms, "Normally, those guys break under the pressure, but they are really good. I made deals. I even flirted with one guy... I threatened them with everything, really everything, still... nothing."

"That is irritating. That is usually the behavior of people operating in a more influential group. Yet, as our information looks like, this was a small group, no network," Hetty grimaces.

"Same with my guys," Sam nods, "They don't say anything about the attack on G, or the ambush at my house."

"Anything on the bomb yet?" Kensi asks.

"It was a standard wireless trigger. The driver set it off when Sam and Callen came by," Eric confirms.

"So nothing about the brand to maybe figure it out?" Sam asks.

"No, it wasn't a great thing anyway. It was just supposed to serve as distraction, most likely," Nell approves.

"Then what on the ambush?" Sam questions.

"We checked video footage and so on. They didn't tag either one of us. They just went to the places without following the cars," Eric informs him.

"So... they knew where we live," Kensi grimaces. That is _definitely_ not good.

"How would they know?" Sam argues, "the three who came to my house are idiots. From the bit they talked to us... they were honestly surprised that Marty was there, and they really don't seem to be the type that plots, really, let alone work out a strategy."

"You said that you drove to the apartment, maybe that's why they thought he'd be over there. Eric's just said that they didn't tag us," Kensi argues.

"But why would they think that Marty'd be alone at the apartment?" Sam questions.

"Maybe they didn't know about Marty at all. If they didn't tag us... they just had the addresses. And once it was time, they just went to there to... do whatever," Kensi replies.

"It might be that the coup wasn't actually directed at _us,"_ Hetty throws in.

"Right. We thought it was to scare us off, but they didn't tag us. They specifically moved to our apartments. So that can't really be," Kensi nods.

"They didn't try to take the kids hostage, as it seems, so that can't be reason either," Sam nods.

"The execution wasn't very refined, or else Marty wouldn't have managed to overpower them," Kensi goes on.

"They had to pull it off fast, and that's why they were otherwise unprepared," Hetty agrees.

"And the time... they attacked somewhat around eleven to midnight. They had to fear that Michelle and I would already head back by the time. It would have been smarter to attack... maximum thirty minutes after we headed out. Why did they wait that long?" Sam questions.

"They moved upon someone's order," Kensi bites his lower lip, "Went in there blindly."

"But why the houses?" Nell questions, "why not NCIS? LAPD, _something?"_

"They would have been caught for sure," Eric argues.

"Maybe they were looking for something," Hetty suggests.

"But they checked the children's' rooms," Sam argues. Why would those people go looking in there of all places?

"If they didn't plan this thoroughly, which is very likely, then those guys probably wanted to make sure that no one was around to call police. The guy Marty choked out may have been instructed to check if someone is upstairs... and the other one just snapped when police came," Kensi replies mindfully.

"But that doesn't answer the question: What did they want?" Sam argues.

"Maybe they thought you had something that they want," Hetty suggests, "or want back."

"I'm a federal agent. I didn't take anything from the scene," Sam shakes his head. Agents don't do that, ever.

"They weren't too smart," Eric shrugs.

"And they checked all our apartment, not just yours specifically," Kensi adds, _"Wait,_ so maybe they don't think that we took something from the scene, but maybe they think we have something from the our research that... somehow, they think is with us?"

"Why would we take this home?" Sam insists. That just doesn't make any sense.

"We have to find out who ordered them, that's the only way we figure this out," Kensi says.

"That means... next interrogation round," Sam sighs.

"Check another time if somehow information leaked to the outside that could make them believe that we have something valuable to them, Mr. Beale, Ms. Jones. I will make some phone calls," Hetty orders.

The agents head back out and the analysts start to work on their computers. Hetty glances at the screens with a sigh on her thin lips.

There are just too many open questions, still.


	26. We Are Better, Right?

Author's Note: Thank you all for the awesome feedback!  
Okay, so this chapter might be a bit of a gap filler, but I wanted a bit more Marty!G and also a heart-to-heart with Sam, to set things straight between the partners. And I was also in dear need of some fluff after all the fighting. Otherwise I get sad myself ;) Plus, I have to prepare the stage for the next mini arc.  
I still have to figure out some stuff about the crime plot. I hope I'll manage to wrap this up in either the next chapter or the one after.  
Anyway, I still hope you'll like it ;)Read, review, and enjoy ;)

* * *

Marty and Callen spent the time with a bit of chat, but mostly... they just enjoyed each other's presence. After all that happens, you really learn to appreciate that. Suddenly the teenager glances over to the door expectantly and hops off the bed to get over to his chair.

"Something wrong?" Callen asks. Of course he wouldn't admit that he actually misses the closeness, but... well, he does. That's no crime, is it? His brother was almost killed, then you get a bit... clingy.

"Doctor comes to check on you," Marty shrugs his shoulders.

"You really have the ears of a bat," Callen shakes his head with a grin. Marty smirks as he eases down. That is the moment the doctor makes his appearance, "Mr. Callen, how are we today?"

"Great!" Callen exclaims dramatically, to which the teenager chuckles, "Marty, stop laughing."

"... what happened to _you?"_ the doctor frowns as he turns to the teenager with curious eyes.

"Someone broke into my friend's house and attacked him," Callen explains. Really, at some point he is glad that the doctor seems laid-back about all this.

"Oh goodness. Bad luck must be chasing the both of you," the physician shakes his head.

"You have no idea," the brothers agree simultaneously.

"Okay, Mr. Callen, then let's have a look at the bandages," the doctor declares as he gets on the gloves. Callen pulls his gown away enough so the doctor has a clear view at his stomach. The physician starts to work on the bandages, "You have to tell me if it hurts."

"Sure," Callen nods. He knows that routine by now. He's had too many hospital stays to the count.

"So... did you catch the people who broke into the house?" the doctor asks surprisingly casually.

"Yeah. Marty got them, police just had to pick them up," Callen smirks proudly.

"My, my... A lot of agents in that club of yours," the physician makes a face. This is really the oddest bunch he met so far, and he met and treated a good share throughout his career.

"Kinda," Callen smirks. The doctor goes on with his check-up as he speaks, "... the stitches are looking good. We'll do another US to see if there's bleeding. Later the day we'll have another CAT scan to be on the safe side that your organs didn't take damage."

"... does that perhaps mean that I can get outta here if the results are good?" Callen suggests.

"You really want to get out of here, huh?" the physician shakes his head. He knows that agents or police officers usually want to get out the fastest possible, but this guy really tops it.

"Nothing against you and your working place. Is just that I hate hospitals in general," Callen smirks.

"You're certainly not the only one who tells me that," the physician shakes his head with a chuckle on his thin lips.

"I don't know if that's reassuring, but well," Callen jokes.

"Well, I can't guarantee you, because I need to have a look at the scan. If there is no bleeding or other abnormalities, then we can think about releasing you, if you take it easy," the doctor says, to which Callen smiles broadly, "That would be wonderful."

"Alright... well, US is clear, so first step is done," the doctor nods.

"Awesome," Callen exclaims mockingly.

"Well, someone will get you to the CAT scan within the next couple of hours. I'll be back once I have the results, and then we talk about your further treatment," the doctor says as he takes off the gloves and puts them in the trashcan.

"Thank you," Callen smirks, nodding his head at him.

"Shall I check you over, too?" the physician suggests, turning to Marty, who blinks at him incredulously, "What?"

"Yes, please. That'd be great," Callen smirks with a hint of mischief in his voice.

"_No_, please," Marty shakes his head.

"Marty, if the doctor wants to have a look at you, you will let him have a look at you, no arguing," the agent demands sternly.

"I'm fine! EMT's checked me," Marty insists. Really, he doesn't want to. He just got out of hospital himself. He just got over the state as a patient. And the teenager would like for things to stay that way a while longer. The doctor walks up to him as he gets on the next pair of gloves.

"And the EMT said that we have to watch out for cough and dizzy spells," Callen argues. Sam gave him all the details, of course.

"None of which I had," Marty rolls his eyes.

"It's always good to have that checked another time. It really can't harm," the doctor argues with a smirk.

"Listen to the expert," Callen nods, thumbing at the physician. He is actually glad to see Marty, well, acting like a teenager, defiant and pouting. As if on cue, the boy rolls his eyes, only proving G's point.

"Fine, okay," Marty sighs, knowing that this is a fight he won't win. The doctor makes a quick check-up, much to the teenager's dismay. That is why he hates hospitals also. There is too many doctors in them.

"Well, you should take it easy for the next couple of days. And you should especially rest your should and knee so that you stop being sore," the doctor advises him once he is finished.

"Sure," the teenager shrugs. As if he couldn't have guessed that much...

"Thank you," Callen nods politely.

"Alright, I'll see you around for the CAT scan, then," the doctor claps his thighs.

"Looking forward to that," Callen winks at him. With that the doctor takes off.

"Told you I was fine," Marty snorts.

"Still messed-up knee and shoulder, oh, not to mention the cuts on your arm that almost ripped the limb off," G argues. And he doesn't care if he is giving another mother-hen impersonation here.

"Stab wound in the stomach, four hours of surgery. I think I win," Marty huffs.

"Okay... point taken," G smirks.

"I hate hospitals," Marty sighs, leaning back in his chair.

"Me, too," Callen smirks. Marty blinks more often after a while, his head sluggishly shooting back up again once he realizes. Callen can't help but chuckle, "Scoot over here."

Marty grimaces at him, "Huh?"

The teen thinks for a second, but simply then simply goes with it, "I slept through, dunno why that is."

"Coz even tough guys like you and I are beat after fighting off three grown men with guns without weapons and save two little kids in the process. One night does not account for that," Callen chuckles.

"Huh," Marty exhales, blinking again.

"Is okay, I keep watch, you just sleep it off," Callen offers in a soft voice.

"Hm," Marty mumbles tiredly. He leans his head and arms on the rim of the bed and closes his eyes. Callen tousles the teenager's locks affectionately, happy that Marty finally gets to relax at least some. After all he's been through, rest is the best he can do. And, truth told, it helps G ease, too. The agent actually took a liking to Marty's philosophy: he's good for as long as Marty's good.  
So... they are both... at least better than before.

* * *

Hours pass in which Marty sleeps peacefully while Callen finds peace in the mere body contact, in the presence of his little everything. And he was _that_ close to losing it. Because of one stupid mistake, because of this case. It makes G sick to the stomach thinking about it. His little brother could have been killed because of... because of his job? Is it really? It's nothing Callen ever had to think about for as long as he was just himself in the world. But now there is Marty... and... if something happens to the agent, then this will affect Marty greatly, as they had it the days before when it was "simply" Callen being stabbed. But now... a case got so close to home that Marty's life was at potential risk, more than that... if not for Marty having the skills he has... he would have been dead.

The agent shakes his head. He doesn't want to think about that. It's too hurtful to even imagine that... no. Just _no._ He simply wants to cherish that he still has his kid brother. Everything else will be dealt with in due time. One step after the other, Nate said. Now they have to focus on getting better first. Only once they took that hurdle, they can think about how to handle Marty's safety. Callen wipes a fast tear away from his cheek before he grabs Marty's hair a little tighter to make himself aware once again that Marty is here. And that's all that matters.

Suddenly there is a soft knock on the door-frame. Callen glances over to the entrance to see his partner standing there, the uncertainty written all over his face.

"Hey," Callen says softly.

"Hey," Sam nods, biting his lower lip.

Marty stirs awake, his eyes immediately on Sam, "Hey, Sam."

"Hey, kiddo," Sam smirks.

"Did we wake you, huh?" Callen chuckles sympathetically as Marty straightens back up.

"Heard the car already when he drove to the lot," Marty says as he stretches.

"Why do I even bother to ask, huh?" Callen huffs.

"Dunno. You tell me," Marty shrugs. G smirks at him, ruffling his curls once more, "What's in the bag?"

"The clothes you asked for," Sam says. Callen nods his thanks. Sam grimaces. Neither one is sure how to approach the topic. After a longer pause, G is the one to break the ice eventually, "Marty? How about you get yourself some chocolate bar from the vending machine down this way?"

"You can just tell me that you wanna be alone with Sam, you know," Marty grins. Even he can sense awkward silence when it is in front of him. G chuckles at that, "Well, then would you do that so that I can talk to Sam? And because you gotta keep up with the eating?"

"Sure," Marty nods, hopping off the stool and outside.

"He seems a little better," Sam says once Marty is out of eavesdrop.

"Yeah, I think he's coming down from fear and shock," Callen nods.

"He was anxious to see you," Sam tells him.

"... speaking of which... I noticed you didn't come in when you brought him," G argues.

"Yeah, well, I thought you needed some time to, well, figure this out," Sam admits.

"Might've been," Callen nods. There is another moment of silence before Sam just breaks out, "... G, I... I can't even tell you how sorry I am. I never would've imagined that those guys come after us. You know that I take it serious with the security. I... I never would've done that to endanger Marty. I wouldn't do anything purposely to endanger him, G!"

"Sam, I know that," G sighs. Of course Sam wouldn't.

"Seriously, I...," Sam bites his lower lip.

"But... the timing was just awful," Callen can't help the comment. Marty was just doing so well, and then... crisis strikes.

"I know, G, and more than anything I wish I could go back to the time where I considered going out for a night and then just stay home, but... fuck, G, I didn't know," Sam shakes his head.

"Yeah... well...," Callen sighs.

"I can't even tell you how sorry I am," Sam insists.

"I believe you," Callen nods.

"So... how mad are you? Just so that I know?" Sam asks.

"I'm not really _mad,_ Sam. I didn't see it coming, so I can't say that I knew it or whatever. It's just that this is Marty and... ah, fuck! This is just so screwed up!" Callen shakes his head. They shouldn't be forced to have such discussions, really. They should argue about the kids staying up all night or watching a TV show they weren't supposed to watch. Or a vase that broke. Not the possibility of the children getting killed thanks to their job.

"I know – and believe me, we will make the people responsible for this pay," Sam says with determination welling up. They silence another time.

"Hetty already briefed me," Callen nods.

"We will get them," Sam repeats, "they will pay for hurting the family like that."

"When you called last night, I thought I'd die from shock," Callen admits, gripping his bed sheets a little tighter.

"I picture," Sam grimaces sympathetically. He could at least get into the car and drive back home, do something, anything, but G? He just had to sit this out and anxiously wait for Marty. Sam can only vaguely imagine how painful this must have been for his partner.

"I mean... he's been through so much and... he was making so good progress...," G sighs. He is just so darn afraid that Marty will just hit the next low. And Callen doesn't want Marty to go for the next low. Nate told him that this is normal, but who'd want his little brother hurting, really?

"I think he really just needs some time to figure himself out and... _process_ this... and I think things will be _way_ easier once Nate's back from this assignment. He'll know exactly what to do with what you don't know now," Sam assures his partner.

"You're probably right... but... Marty just didn't deserve that on tops of everything," G exhales. It's just so unfair.

"He surely didn't," Sam agrees.

"... but by the end of the day... I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at me!" Callen admits.

"Why?" Sam frowns. _That_ is actually an admission he didn't see coming.

"I let it slip, don't you see? That guy stabbed me and that's when it all went down," G breaks out.

"G, no one saw it coming," Sam argues.

"Right, but I should have. Sam, that normally doesn't happen to me, c'mon," Callen huffs. No, normally he sees a knife coming and dodges it. He was trained for just that.

"G, don't do that to yourself, okay?" Sam argues.

"What now? Marty could've been dead! Fuckin' _dead_!" Callen grits his teeth.

"I know, and this is _beyond_ scary, but... I know it's terrible thinking about it, but if Marty hadn't been the babysitter for the girls... they would've been fuckin' dead also. My kids are alive thanks to Marty. And as awful as it is to think that... at some point I'm glad that he was there to protect them, coz no one else would've managed," Sam admits, biting his lower lip.

"I'm with you on that one, but... it could've come differently. And you know that as well as I do. That those guys didn't shoot him was a lucky coincidence and thanks to his fast reaction, but... but just one wrong step and he could've been dead, and the girls also. And all that because I let myself get stabbed," Callen grits his teeth. If he hadn't gotten stabbed, they would have been at home. And the both of them would have played babysitter the girls. Then everything would still be... less chaos, "He could've been dead, Sam, I just can't get it out of my head. He could've been dead, gone forever. I can't afford to lose him. I just can't."

"But you didn't. He's alive and so are the girls. And next time... we'll just do it better, make sure this doesn't happen again," Sam argues.

"You and I both know that it doesn't work like that. We can never know," G retorts.

"And you can never know if your kid doesn't get run over by a bus. Doesn't mean that it also happens," Sam sighs, "and Marty's a boy against all odds, let's face it."

"I don't like that, at all," Callen mutters.

"You think I do? It's what us... _parents..._ in whatever the sense now... feel like all the while," Sam shakes his head.

"That part sucks," G sighs, though a grin tugs at his lips.

"Tell me about it. But seriously G. You shouldn't do that to yourself," Sam argues.

"What now?" Callen questions, so Sam replies, "Blaming yourself for what happened, coz if you do that... Marty will know and then he'll blame himself even more for making you sad. You know the kid, G, better than anyone else here. He'd go down if you did that. He needs you as his anchor, not as the one to push him over the edge."

"... you might be right," Callen exhales.

"I am, trust me," Sam smirks.

"... at this moment I'd just love to take him home and not leggo till he is better and all this is over," Callen admits, covering his eyes. Again, he couldn't care less if he is being overly emotional now. This is Marty they are talking about. For that little guy, he even makes a fool of himself, with pleasure.

"You can do all that once you're outta hospital," Sam winks at him. Callen looks at him before he nods with a sigh, "right..."

"So... are we good?" Sam asks tentatively.

"What? Yeah, yeah, we're good," Callen nods. He doesn't blame Sam. He can't, really. He didn't see it coming, so he can't blame anyone for it either. And anyways, they should probably stop the whole self-blame trip. That doesn't do anyone any good.

"Good," Sam nods, visibly relieved at that. He feared that Callen would bear him a grudge for this.

"This situation is just crazy," G huffs. Sam just smirks to himself as his partner runs a hand over his face. G doesn't even know how much he is like his little brother and vice-versa. It's one of the funniest things to all team members that Marty and Callen share certain gestures, habits, and that they are likely to refer to something with the same words without knowing it, and be perfectly unaware of the similarity that is seemingly there by blood.

"Surely is. But we'll find the people behind all this," Sam assures him.

"And then we bring those bosses to the boatshed and I'll make sure they don't walk out of it on their own feet again," G declares gloomily.

"With you on that one," Sam nods. He could hold back with the minions, but whoever gave the order... will get it, right in his face.

"I'm just glad once I'm out of this. It's killing me to be stuck here doing nothing," Callen grumbles, which makes his partner chuckle softly, "Feel with you, but I guess you'll be fine in the next couple of days."

"The sooner the better," G nods. He has some business to handle, that much is for sure. Suddenly, Marty stands in the doorway again, "Safe to come in?"

"Yeah, yeah," Callen smirks.

"I thought you were supposed to get yourself something to eat?" Sam frowns as Marty walks inside, but the teenager just shrugs at him, "I gave it to a small kid crying down the hallway. The boy was totally upset coz he busted his toy car."

"Of course you find the one kid crying in the entire building," Callen rolls his eyes. Marty seemingly has a magnet for that.

"What can I say? Kids dig me," Marty shrugs with a smile.

"Surely do. So... you wanna head out or you wanna stay with G longer?" Sam asks.

"Doc said I'll have my scan little soon, and that will take some time. You really should go with Sam. This is gonna be boring above everything," Callen argues.

"He's right," Sam agrees.

"And you're supposed to eat also. Coz I think if I keep you around all this time, you'll only give everything to small crying kids ," Callen adds.

"Okay," the teenager nods.

"And you can come by morrow again to hang around. If they don't release him until then," Sam offers.

"Alright, see you morrow then, G," Marty says. He gives his brother a brief hug. Sam shakes hands with his partner and with that they walk up to the door.

"Bye, kiddo," Callen tells him, and Marty replies, "Bye."

Sam and Callen exchange on last look before Sam takes the teenager back over to his place. It's looking better again, right?

* * *

"We're back!" Sam greets as they come inside. Marty already walks ahead, but then stops dea in his tracks. Michelle already rounds the corner.

"Oh, hey there," Michelle smirks. Marty glances around, visibly shocked, "The hell?! Everything's..."

_Fixed!_ Everything is fixed, for goodness sake! Marty can't help but stare.

"You have the best employer ever. I hope you tell that Hetty often enough, really," Michelle snickers.

"What now?" Sam frowns at her incredulously as he comes closer, too.

"Well, after you left a horde of architects and a whole bunch of craftsmen swarmed in here and fixed everything just the way we wanted it, upon Hetty's order. I love that woman so friggin' much. Coz I mean... look at it, Sam! This is gorgeous!" Michelle exclaims excitedly.

"Wow," Sam nods, visibly impressed. He knows that Hetty makes many miracles happen, but he is always amazed at it.

"It's _exactly_ the colors I wanted and _so_ fast!" Michelle smirks.

"Yeah, if there is someone to do it, it's Hetty," Sam winks at her.

"Marty? You do me a favor and watch the girls for a little while? I wanna cook in my new kitchen a bit," Michelle asks him.

"Sure. Upstairs?" Marty nods.

"Yeah. I think they are damaging the beds all over. You know, Hetty's given Marie a canopy bed and now Jazzie wants one, too," Michelle rolls her eyes.

"Maybe I can get them into a round of crawling on the ground," Marty shrugs.

"How does that work?" Michelle makes a face.

"When mean bats fly above your heads to eat your face?" the teenager replies, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Childish fantasy is amazing," Michelle smiles.

"That and a good weapon to get kids into things they don't wanna do," Marty nods, Well, I'm off then."

With that the teenager walks upstairs.

"You know that she did that for him, right?" Michelle asks, now more serious.

"What?" Sam blinks at her, "She fixed our house for Marty?"

"I mean, she also did it for us, but I honestly think she pushed this so that Marty sees that everything's back to Status Quo," she explains.

"Status Quo?" he knits his eyebrows at her with a small smile on his lips.

"You know how he was about the _situation..._ he blames himself for the fire and all. Now that he sees that things are fixed...," she shrugs, and Sam completes, "He'll feel better. Definitely."

"Really, wish I had a Hetty over at my agency," Michelle shakes her head with a smirk.

"She's one of her kind," Sam smirks.

"Pity," she shrugs.

"Just imagine two Hettys together... I don't know what would be if those they came together... I mean... they'd take over the world," Sam grimaces.

"True again... how's G, by the way?" Michelle asks.

"Better. I think they will actually release him from hospital soon," Sam nods.

"And... how is it about, you know...?" she grimaces. Michelle knows that Sam was actually afraid to face his partner after this entire disaster.

"We're good. We talked it out," Sam smirks.

"Then I'm glad," Michelle smiles at him.

"Me, too. Believe me. I was honestly scared that he'd, you know, not trust me with Marty ever again. He's so extremely protective of the kid," Sam shakes his head.

"Naturally. You're the same about our girls, and so am I. Parents would do anything for their children, and G... well, he doesn't have kids, _technically,_ but Marty's the closest thing to a child that he'll get, unless he has other children later on, but you know what I mean," she gesticulates.

"Totally. Sometimes they really act more like father and son than big brother and little brother... and other times they are the latter. It's really funny watching that mix," Sam smirks.

"I bet," she snickers. Sam hugs her from behind, "Next time you come to the game as my personal cheerleader. Then you might get a chance?"

"You wish," she snorts.

"Definitely do," he smirks.

"Whatever. So okay, I'll cook meal in the new kitchen now. So excited!" she smirks.

"Can't remember you saying that in a while," Sam snickers, "with such enthusiasm."

"When I got my last kitchen," she argues, to which Sam nods, "True."

"And if you're a real good man, you fix the bathtub," she smirks.

"What did the girls do to it this time?" Sam rolls his eyes.

"I honestly don't have a clue. The water just won't go away... and that was once the craftsmen were gone, so I couldn't ask them to fix it," she exhales, though neither one can be really mad at them at times such as these. They are happy... and a bit crazy, but what child isn't?

Sam walks upstairs to fix the bathroom, _once again_. And for once he is actually quite glad for normalcy to claim its place so fast. Hetty is right with what she told Michelle: back to Status Quo at this point might be the best thing to do after all. And it feels about just right.

The culprit for the bathtub is located after some digging also: marbles. Sam asks himself how they managed to stuff them in there, but he gave long since up on trying to figure it out. The girls just always find a way to create chaos. He walks into the Marie's room to find the two rolling on the ground, Marty standing above them drowning them in their stuffed animals.

"Do I want to know what this is?" Sam makes a face, so Marty explains, "The girls just got to the Cuddly Falls, where cuddly falls down on you."

"Of course," Sam shrugs, "But could you quit for a sec?"

"Princesses? Your dear Father has important matters to discuss with you. He seeks an audience with you," Marty declares dramatically. The two are instantly on their feet, looking at their father with huge eyes.

"So now. I found marbles in the drain for the bathtub, girls. And I know that Marty or mommy didn't put them there. And we had the talk about how we don't put stuff in drains or sinks," Sam lectures them, but then Marie jumps in, "But daddy, we had to!"

"Right, we had to, for the sake of the mission," Jasmine joins her.

"Girls, now don't come me with that again. Is okay that you tell yourselves stories when playing, but I don't always want to fix the bathroom once I come back home. That can't continue," Sam argues sternly.

"But there lives something in the drain, daddy!" Jasmine insists, and her sister adds, "Uh-huh. So we had to put'em in there."

"Girls!" Sam cries out, but then Marty jumps in, faking exasperation, "Oh, you seriously did that?!"

The girls stare at him now, very much surprised by his sudden shriek. Sam can't hide the confusing either.

"What's wrong, Marty?" Marie asks.

"That's the only way to calm the beast. The snakes didn't work... and the Power Balls neither," Jasmine insists.

"Coz daddy took them out," Marie nods.

"I can't believe it that you did that, oh my god!" Marty makes a face.

"What?" the two blink at him with huge eyes, so Marty goes on, "Aren't you afraid that the snakes come back out and bite you in the bottom?! Oh goodness! I won't even put a foot in that tub!"

"Daddy took them out again," Jasmine argues.

"But what if they had babies in there and now they come nibble on your butt when you take a bath?!" Marty argues dramatically. The girls look visibly distressed.

"And then the Power Balls, girls! What if they only boost the powers of the Gremlin that lives in there... or the snakes now fuse with the Gremlin and create a huge monster Gremlin with snakes as arms and then he... oh God! How could you do that?!" Marty gesticulates wildly.

"We didn't know!" Jasmine exclaims.

"But..." Marie gapes.

"What do we do now?!" Jasmine asks hastily, and Marie joins her, "What do we do?!"

And then they ask in a chorus, "Marty, what do we do now?!"

"Well, first of all: Never feed the beast again," Marty lectures them playfully. The girls nod hastily.

"Oh... that's a hard one, coz you already fed it. I mean, if you hadn't fed it, it would've just dispersed into thin air by the next full moon... but now you fed it. That's bad. Real bad. Bad-bad," Marty taps his finger against his chin. The girls look very distressed.

"Marty, now help us already!" Marie cries out.

"Right! We don't wanna have snakes nibbling our butts," Jasmine whines.

"I don't know... I just don't... I never met one that was granted to grow that big, really! … but wait! Ah, there, now I remember! Follow me! Quick!" Marty makes a dramatic pose before he walks ahead into the bathroom. The girls follow suit. Sam glances at the scene with curiosity. Now he wants to know what the teenager has in mind to make the girls quit that. Jasmine started it two years ago, and Marie joined a year ago... since then, they have the sink fixed about twice a day. Marty, once inside the bathroom, grabs one of the cleaners from the shelf and walks up to the bathtub, "I only know one spell from a very, very old witch who's used to live next door before a chant went wrong and she ended up as a toad. The only way to kill a Snake-Gremlin is this here."

He makes a theatrical gesture towards the girls, who nod at every word before he goes on, "So, if you have a Snake-Gremlin living in your drain, you gotta pour some of it through that hole here, but make sure it's just a bit, or else everything's gonna explode, boom, boom! House's gone! And you don't want the house gone or else you'll go to Alice in Wonderland. And we all know that no one wants to go there for as long as there's this creepily grinning cat roaming around."

"Definitely," the two agree. Sam chuckles. The girls, for some reason, never liked Alice in Wonderland, ever.

"Okay, secondly, never do that without an adult present. Otherwise the magic won't work," Marty tells them, to which the girls gape, "Oh."

"Well, let's see, ah, your daddy is here, so we can do it," Marty winks at Sam before he goes on, "Never-ever even think about drinking that stuff. If you do, you will turn blue and red and then you'll blow up like a huge balloon and explode."

"Never!" the two agree.

"... so now that we clarified that... we have to make the chant. But you gotta help me or else it won't work... so now we say the magical word together: BANZAI!" he exclaims as he makes a dramatic pose, and the girls join gleefully, "Banzai!"

Marty leans over the tub and "sneaks a peek" at the drain, "There, Gremlin dead. But it can still come back as a zombie if you give him more to feed on."

"Never again!" the two insists.

"Good. Then it's time for the Princesses to make sure the Cuddlies get back into the box before they come eat the furniture, after all it's all new now. Would be a pity if the Cuddlies eat'em all," Marty explains. And with that the girls run off. Marty puts the cleaner away before he walks past Sam, "Welcome?"

"If you don't know whatcha wanna do for a job, you might try teacher or kindergartener," Sam chuckles. Marty's methods are unconventional, but Sam actually has hope that the girls will finally quit the drains as their playgrounds.

"I guess I'd get many calls from upset parents for making kids believe that Gremlins live in their drains," Marty snickers.

"I don't mind. You even got them into the security management," Sam smirks.

"Sure as hell you don't mind, coz you already failed to make them stop with the candy," the teenager smiles.

"Hey," Sam huffs playfully.

"Just kidding," Marty smiles at him before he hollers, "GIRLS! Are they yet back in the box so I can sit down on it to make sure it's shut?!"

He walks back into Marie's room and immediately carries on entertaining them. Sam smiles to himself as he makes his way back downstairs.

"Drain's fixed. And I think the girls will leave it alone from this point on," Sam smiles victoriously.

"What did you say to them?" she frowns.

"Marty handled it," Sam shrugs.

"Are we just gonna let him raise our kids?" Michelle jokes.

"Just until they are out of that phase, maybe?" Sam suggests.

"Will be difficult once G is outta hospital," Michelle smirks.

"You said yourself, we just gotta make sure he comes by all the time. Problem solved. I never saw the girls giving in that easily. I mean... he just tells them that there's a Gremlin in the drain and they believe it," Sam shakes his head.

"He really has an active imagination," Michelle grins.

"I thought our girls were the worst, but he really tops it. Born story-teller, really," Sam shakes his head.

"Well, I don't see what's wrong about that. He's simply very creative, I'd say," she shrugs.

"Definitely," Sam nods. Suddenly the doorbell rings, "I'll get that."

He opens the door, "Nate!"


	27. Not All Are As Lucky

Author's Note: Thanks for the nice feedback!  
And I know, it was a bit mean to pull another cliffhanger for all you Nate-Fans. I apologize, but otherwise the chapter would have been just too long, I think. But, to make you happy again, I worked my best to post this chapter as fast as I could so that you can get your dose of Nate-goodness.  
For the crime-fans... I'm sorry, I'm still doing some figuring out on this, which is why I want to send this ahead.  
Anyway, hope you'll like it.  
Read, review, enjoy ;)

* * *

"Hey, I hope I don't disturb the peace here?" Nate smiles at Sam. The psychologist has his Army bag over the shoulder, dressed in a plain white shirt and jeans.

"Not at all, c'mon in," Sam smirks and gestures at the others man. Nate steps inside, "I came as fast as I could, but, once again... set-back. At some point I really think Marty should see another psychologist if this one is always that unlucky."

"Nah, he trusts you, that's all that counts," Sam assures him, "and if it had gotten really bad, he has the other two, right?"

"Yeah, well, that's the plan," Nate shrugs as he puts down his bag, "So... how are you faring?"

"We are good," Sam smiles at him.

"Are you really?" Nate questions with this undertone only a psychologist can produce.

"Don't want to lie, it scared the crap outta me that someone would go after my family, but... the girls are unharmed, thanks to Marty. Marty is okay, too, other than some scratches and bruises... G is healing up. You know, it could've been so much worse," Sam admits.

"It's good that you see it that way," Nate nods.

"Oh, who's there...?" Michelle peeks around the corner.

"Nate," Sam winks. Michelle steps out of the kitchen and greets him, "Ah, hi. Good to see you."

"Good to see you, too, Michelle. You doing alright?" Nate asks casually.

"Splendid. I got a new kitchen. I'm satisfied," Michelle snickers.

"She is easy bargain about these things," Sam smirks.

"Whatever, Sam," she rolls her eyes at him.

"How are the girls?" Nate asks, now a bit more severe. He got a briefing from Hetty, of course, but it's always different to see it through someone else's perception.

"Splendid also," Michelle smiles, "They didn't understand what exactly happened. They thought it was a role play. And I think we do good at leaving it at that until they are ready to understand."

"I suppose that should be alright, but make sure to keep an eye on that. Sometimes children don't show that they actually know more about this," Nate advises them, "But they know that Marty saved them?"

"Yes, and we are explicit about that," Sam nods. He owes this little guy so much, really.

"Good," Nate nods. For Marty, this might be actually essential. After all, he still struggles with his self-esteem most of the time. If they make it a secret, it could send the wrong signals.

"Well, is Marty here? I would like to talk to him, if it's possible," he asks.

"He's upstairs with the girls. Shall I get him for you?" Sam offers.

"That would be great," Nate nods.

"And I will get you something to drink. We have self-made lemonade," Michelle winks at him.

"If you weren't married, I'd kiss you for that, oh my goodness," Nate smirks and follows her into the kitchen. Meanwhile, Sam walks upstairs to go fetch Marty.

"Have you already seen G?" Michelle asks as she gets out the container.

"Not yet, but I talked to him on the phone already last night. He wanted to hear my opinion," he tells her, "I will pass by later the day, but first we have to make sure that Marty is, well, well enough."

"Yeah, of course, children come first," she nods as she fills a glass for him.

"Right," Nate nods. Though it came as a shock even to the psychologist to hear what happened in just this short amount of time. One of his "patients" gets stabbed, leaving the other devastated. And then the latter is caught up in an ambush that almost got him killed, too, as a teenager. Really, it's insane what happens in the newly found Callen-Clan.

"How was the assignment?" Michelle asks as she hands him the glass.

"Thank you," he smirks, taking a drink, before he carries on, "Stressful, but we achieved something, and that's great."

"Good for you," she nods.

"Yeah," he nods, but then turns more serious, "And you are really okay with the situation?"

"... at some point I'm _of course_ shocked that someone managed to get so close to us, even though we take security so seriously. But... I don't know, I just can't help but be euphoric now. The girls are safe and sound, they are happy, they are not traumatized... I have a new kitchen. And Marty seems also fine, according to circumstances. That is more than we could ever wish for," she explains credibly. Nate agrees, "True."

"Here he is," Sam declares.

"Hi, Marty," Nate greets the teenager, who waves at him casually, "Hey, Nate, how's Libya been?"

"Warm," Nate shrugs.

"Guessed as much. G's sending you?" Marty shrugs.

"As sharp as ever," Nate chuckles.

"Doesn't take a genius to figure that an unstable teenager in that kinda situation is considered to need _psychological guidance_ once again. I could stretch it so that we two can do a bit of emotional talk, but... I knew this would come at some point," Marty replies.

"In fact. Is that okay with you?" Nate asks.

"Suppose," Marty shrugs. It's not like he'll get around it if he says 'no'.

"Okay, great, then we will talk a bit," Nate smirks.

"Yay," Marty fakes enthusiasm.

"Don't run yourself into the ground," Nate huffs.

"Never, doc," Marty snorts, "coz that's physically impossible... unless you have a shovel."

"You got some place where we have a bit privacy?" Nate turns to Sam, who replies, "Weather is good, why don't you go into the garden? There's chairs and a table also."

"Perfect," claps his hands together, "I suppose that you shouldn't be walking with that leg all too much, otherwise I would have taken you for a walk."

"I can walk on my hands for a while, but then conversation gets kinda hard. Let's stick to the yard, then," Marty nods.

"You lead the way," Nate gesticulates at Marty. The teenager nods and walks ahead, the psychologist short up behind him.

"... do they always banter like that?" Michelle frowns.

"Yeah. Marty's a smart kid. Before first session, he read Nate's articles and constantly questioned him about it, just to piss him off," Sam smirks.

"The little thief," she snickers.

"Well, at first it was a defense coz he didn't want to talk to Nate, but now it's friendly banter," Sams shrugs, "or so we figure."

"Well, it shows that he is confident enough to talk to him. Is good. For as long as it helps him," Michelle shrugs. She hands him a glass of lemonade and both lean against the kitchen counter.

…

Meanwhile, Nate and Marty settled outside.

"So, doc, what art thy desire?" Marty asks dramatically, giving it his worst British accent.

"You," Nate smirks.

"Is always great to be the object of desire in any conversation. I feel so precious," Marty jokes.

"How are you?" Nate asks.

"Totally amazing," Marty huffs.

"Marty, now's time to be honest, okay? We talked about this," Nate lectures him, "Serious talk now."

"Yeah, I know," Marty sighs. He just likes to... not talk feelings. He hates to talk feelings. Even if he is cool with Nate as his psychologist... he still doesn't like it. He feels good now, after he spent time with G and the girls. And more than anything, Marty wants things to stay that way.

"Good, so... how was the first time after the incident?" Nate asks.

"... not asking about the incident straight away?" Marty frowns at him.  
"I save it up for later," Nate winks at him. He anticipates that Marty will struggle talking about this, and possibly shut down, so Nate wants to get as much information before he turns this topic, plus, he hopes he can actually prepare Marty that way. At least that worked over the course of the last sessions.

"I see. Well, it was... weird, kinda," Marty grimaces.

"Why?" Nate questions, but Marty shrugs, "Well, I get it that all are overly nice to me, but... I don't know, it just doesn't feel right."

"Why do you think that?" Nate blinks at him.

"... well, everyone seems _stiff,_ still, you know?" Marty bites his lower lip, pulling on an invisible thread on his jeans pocket.

"Well, it was an... _outstanding_ situation, to say the least. That leaves people unsure. And that is when they react stiffly," Nate explains.

"But... thanks to this here... I was getting a lot of attention... and I don't know why," Marty makes a face.

"Because you saved two girls, Sam's girls, at the stake of your own life?" Nate suggests.

Marty: "Anyone would have done that," Marty argues.

Nate: "Trust me, not everyone would have. It's not natural for a boy your age to jump into action like that. Even if you had run, it would have been perfectly understandable," Nate argues.

Marty: "It was about Sam's kids. What? Was I really supposed to leave them?" Marty blinks at the psychologist. Nate can't be serious, can he?

Nate: "No, but your first impetus was to bring them to safety and then fight those guys," Nate argues, "at least that's what I heard."

"I tried to get away, but it was too late by then," Marty argues, "I wanted to get to the phone, but that is when they came in. Well, okay, and I gathered the bat before, but I just thought that I didn't want to go in there empty-handed."

"Why didn't you escape through the garden, for example?" Nate asks.

"Coz that is what such people expect. That is the first part I'd head for after infiltrating the house if I were them. And I couldn't know if they didn't already swarmed around there. I could've walked right into their arms. This way I had at least the element of surprise," Marty argues.

"So it was a rational decision," Nate nods.

"... I suppose it was," Marty grimaces, unsure what to make of what Nate just said, "Of course there were perhaps better options, but I give myself credit for the fact that I didn't have much time to come up with a great plan or whatever."

"That is of course true," Nate nods.

"... so, what's the point here?" Marty asks.

"The point is that you are living very dangerously, and I don't mean that you live with an agent or hang around at the NCIS. The first chance you get, you head back in, into the danger zone," Nate explains. Marty bites his lower lip, fighting any urge not to sit on the ground now. He takes a few moments before he speaks in a hushed voice, "When fighting, there is a certain kind of clarity, you know? You hear nothing, you see nothing, only the target. You don't think, you don't question, your body does it for you. I don't enjoy the violence, but... when I protect someone, nothing else matters. Normally... normally everything around me is chaos. When I protect people, that chaos disappears. I'm clear. I don't have to think about my fears, my traumas, my... past. There is just this moment – and for as long as I use those fists to protect people... I have no doubt, you know? I do something good. That's nice. Not to question, just do, act upon it."

"So you mean that if you protect someone... even using violence... you have clarity. You are doing the right thing," Nate asks, but Marty shakes his head, "I'm afraid that... I'll lose it. That I turn violent, but... I talked about it with G. I... I have a will to fight, for what's precious to me. Even if that means a few broken noses and blood scatters on the ground. For now, I have it under control."

"But you are afraid that you will lose control," Nate argues.

"I know you talked to G, so you don't have to repeat what I already discussed with him," Marty huffs.

"Well, he's told me that you are afraid that you will become violent if you allow the violence to take part in your life," Nate explains.

"Yeah. And that's a fear I have to live with, I guess," Marty shrugs.

"Then why do you still do it? Bring yourself into the situation where you might lose it?" Nate questions.

"I protect what is dear to me. If I don't fight, then the only thing I do protect is myself and that... dark side of mine, this fear of becoming, well, violent. That is not worth the protection. Those guys are. They make my life... _life..._ that's so much better than this fear, and so much more worthwhile," Marty explains, actually looking at Nate this time, which only underlines that he means it.

"So you are not afraid anymore, of going darkside?" Nate asks.

"I am. It terrifies me," Marty admits, but then carries on in a lighter mood, "Now would be the question what the psychologist would recommend me to do to move around that problem."

"The psychologist would recommend... well... one of the reasons you are afraid of this side of yours is that you scarcely let it out. You contain it," Nate explains, to which Marty shrugs, "Sure."

If you can help it, you should keep the devil in the box, right?

"If you want to lose your fear, you have to familiarize with it. That means you have to get into touch with that side of yours," Nate goes on.

"Is that some twisted way to tell me that I should go ahead and... punch random people to get in touch with myself?" Marty makes a face, making Nate chuckle lightly, "No, it's an advice to let out this energy, this violence, but in the right ways. Canalize it. So that you see that they can be used for good."

"... you mean like I do with the shooting range?" Marty grimaces.

"No, that's to relieve stress. Here it's about relieving aggressive feelings, or rather... finding ways to canalize them the right way," Nate explains. Marty cocks an eyebrow at him, so the psychologist goes on, "Training."

Marty's frown only deepens. Nate is actually serious about this, isn't he?

"Sparring, the gym, work out," Nate provides.

_"Seriously,"_ Marty makes a face at him. He _really_ means it!

"I couldn't be more sincere. I think this might become a very important step in your process, after this here happened. You are afraid of your capabilities because you don't want to turn violent. Well, if you get to know your capabilities better, then you know the line and you don't cross it," Nate explains.

"... you really mean that. _Wow,"_ Marty leans back in his chair. Nate really surprises him.

"I don't know why you are so against it. I thought you'd enjoy that," Nate smirks.

"I'm just surprised that this is supposed to be my cure," Marty huffs.

"It is no cure, Marty. There is no cure. But we can reduce it to a workable level. Remember? Just like we do it with your stress level. You aren't supposed to avoid situations, but find ways to deal with them when confronted with them. That is also a situation you have to face, equipped with techniques to make sure that you manage in the future," Nate explains.

"And what does G say 'bout it?" Marty asks.

"That doesn't matter. It's important what you think about it," Nate argues.

"Well, I trained before, in the streets and all... if it has now a therapeutic purpose... don't see what would speak against it," Marty shrugs.

"Great that all see it the same way," Nate grins at him.

"So G's in for it?" Marty asks again.

"Yeah," the psychologist nods.

"... great," Marty grimaces. He doesn't see this yet, but... he didn't see it either that he'd get along with Nate first. And Marty likes Nate by now. He trusts him. That surely means something. So... he'll have to invest, once again.

"Were you afraid when it happened, when those men came in?" Nate suddenly asks. Well, here we go!

"What?" Marty grimaces, "Yeah, of course. I mean, the guys were that close from getting to the girls. I mean... for a moment I thought they actually did. I was freaked."

"No, I'm not asking if you were afraid for the girls. I'm asking if you were afraid," Nate questions.

"Isn't that the same thing?" Marty frowns at him.

"It's not," Nate shakes his head.

"There's no difference to me," Marty argues.

"The difference is that we are talking about you being afraid for your own sake. Do you understand me now? Were you afraid for yourself?" Nate asks.

"I don't know what you mean," Marty shakes his head.

"Other than the panic of the situation and about losing the girls, was there a part of you that doubted you, that you might want to run, protect yourself? Were you afraid for yourself?" Nate asks again.

"... I don't know," Marty grimaces. He never thought about that, at all.

"You don't know or you don't want?" Nate questions.

"Honestly, I don't know," Marty insists.

"Okay," Nate nods.

"What's the diagnosis, am I mad or not?" Marty grimaces, folding his hands.

"You know that you are not," Nate smirks.

"Tobias tells us otherwise," Marty argues, faking a lazy eye and making a face.

"Marty, I know that you don't have a split personality," Nate rolls his eyes.

"That's what Tobias wants to make you believe. He's a calculating bitch, and he likes porridge," Marty smirks.

"We are talking honestly. Now is not the time for jokes," Nate argues, but Marty disapproves honestly, "I wanna laugh about it, coz else I remember just how horrible this is. I mean, the hell, the house could've burned down, the girls could've been killed, G almost died, the entire team was haunted by this group. This is terrible, let's face it. And no matter how much the others make an effort to pretend all's normal, it ain't. I know that. They know it. The only ones whose reality is really normal is that of the girls coz _thank God_ they didn't understand all of this. So really, I rather laugh about this than cry. I don't know if I would ever stop."

"Are you jealous that the girls don't know?" Nate questions calmly.

"I'm not a very jealous person, at least I think I'm not," Marty shrugs, "Not knowing is a bliss most of the time, but... the more I know, the better I can protect."

"So you burden yourself with that knowledge to have a chance to protect everyone," Nate nods.

"I thought I made that quite clear," Marty replies.

"Okay. Are you getting sleep since the incident?" Nate asks.

"Slept like a rock. Crashed a few more hours over at G's. I guess I'm still coming down from the adrenaline," Marty tells him.

"True. Any bad dreams?" Nate questions.

"I think when I'm awake I'm caught up in a really bad dream, but in my sleep it's nicely black. Nothing I remember," Marty answers.

"You eat properly?" Nate goes on.

"Even if I made an attempt, I suppose that Michelle would force-feed me out of gratitude for the girls," Marty makes a face. And even before, it didn't go without his notice that she always put on a bit more on his plate.

"Does that bother you?" Nate asks.

"She didn't force-feed me yet," Marty argues.

"No, I mean this concern," Nate smirks.

"Should it bother me that they are concerned about me?" Marty makes a face, but Nate explains, "No. What I mean to say is that you are now with people other than G, and they care for you the same way. Is that odd to you or do you feel uncomfortable because of that?" Nate asks.

"... at first, maybe. I mean... I already told you, I have a hard time accepting favors," Marty shrugs his shoulders.

"Right," Nate agrees.

"But... this is nice. I mean... G's the greatest after all, but... this feels like Hallmark Channel family to me, really," Marty smirks faintly.

"You mean with mom, dad, siblings?" Nate says. Marty nods his head wordlessly.

"Okay, I will ask you this now, but ask you at the same time not to feel offended," Nate declares.

"Alright," Marty agrees.

"And it stays between us," Nate assures him.

"Sure," the teenager shrugs, so Nate goes on, "If you compared, and I'm solely, _really_ solely, talking about the living conditions, not about the people in it: do you enjoy a big family like Sam's or the rather private setting with just your brother, for example. Again, it's not about with whom you'd like to stay, it's just the _setting,_ you understand."

Marty glances to the side, thinking about it carefully before he answers, "I don't know, really. I mean, I dig big families. I dig being around kids. They make me happy, you know. Playing with them, goofing around. That's just... when in the ring, that was the only thing I could do for them, and it was horribly little, yet... they'd look at me and then they'd have this smile on their faces, this... this smile in their eyes, really. That never left me."

"And the whole package?" Nate asks.

"It's great, it really is. And... I can picture myself in that, at the same time... I really like this privacy. This... that it's just the two of us, you know? I know it sounds stupid and selfish, but now, I have G to myself," Marty admits, a faint blush rising to his cheeks.

"That is not selfish," Nate tells him.

"It is. I mean, if he has a girlfriend or a wife or kids in the future, I can't say, _nah,_ he's mine, so you all go to hell. Is just... now, with everything so chaotic... best thing is to come home with him, watch a movie and doze off. That's when... when everything else is pushed so far away that I stop worrying. And I hardly stop worrying," Marty smiles faintly.

"Good, okay," Nate nods.

"Anything else on your questionnaire?" Marty grins.

"Do you think you'll be okay again, given a bit of time to process this?" Nate asks.

"... actually, yeah," Marty nods, putting as much credibility into his words as he can. Because he really thinks he can.

"Why is that?" Nate questions.

"We are still here," Marty speaks in a hushed voice. That is the one thought that built up over the conversations he's had since the incident: against all odds, they are still there. He himself is a person against all odds. Normally, he should be dead in some ditch by now, but... he is not. Instead he stumbled into this life, with his brother and this family/team. He didn't disappear, though. He is still here, and so are the others.

"I mean... the hell, if we pull through that kinda shit, what can happen, huh?" Marty smiles weakly.

"That's true," Nate agrees, "very true."

"Yeah...," Marty exhales.

Both fall silent after that as Marty leans his head back to enjoy the sunset caressing his skin. After a while, Nate gets up. Marty stirs, but the man already claps him on the shoulder.

"No need to get up. I'll talk to Sam one last time and then I'm heading out to see your brother," Nate smirks.

"Will he get his ass kicked by you?" Marty smirks.

"Sure as hell. He tells me not to get into trouble, and see what he does?" Nate jokes, "I'll see you around soon again, alright?"

"Sure, bye, Nate," Marty nods.

"Bye," Nate grins.

"Thanks for the talk," Marty smiles at him.

"Always," Nate nods. With that he walks back inside. Marty leans back in the chair and watches the sky, allowing tranquility to claim him.

Inside, Nate walks up to Sam and Michelle, who, of course, kept close by out of curiosity.

"And?" Sam asks as Nate comes up to them, "Do we have to worry?"

"Not really. I think he's on a good way," Nate nods.

"Good, for a moment I feared he was just playing his part," Michelle grimaces.

"Don't worry, he'll be okay," Nate assures her, but then turns back to her husband, "Sam?"

"Yeah?" he blinks at the psychologist, who goes on, "After conversation with the Troublesome Two, we came up with the idea that Marty might want to start sparring or generally training, that is, once he is healed up."

"Really?" Sam frowns. After all, he is still convinced that Callen would like to chain Marty up somewhere so that he doesn't get hurt anymore.

"It will help him, believe me," Nate tells him.

"Cool," Sam shrugs.

"Well, maybe that is something you and G can help him with together," Nate suggests.

"What? Yeah, sure, that sounds like fun," Sam nods. And if that means he gets to pay Marty back in a way, then he's all up for it.

"Great," Nate smiles happily, "Good, okay, I have to head to G, look after him, give him a lecture for being stupid, and then report to Hetty. I'll see you at work, I suppose."

"Alright, see you around, thanks for coming by," Sam claps him on the shoulder.

"Pleasure. Michelle?" Nate bows to her with a smirk.

"Nate," she winks at him. He grabs his bag before he says, "I find the door myself. Bye."

"Bye," the two wave him as he goes.

"Success?" Michelle turns to Sam, who shrugs, "Success."

* * *

Nate makes his way outside and drives over to the hospital. After asking a nurse for him, he quickly finds G's room and gets inside.

"Nate! Hey!" Callen greets the psychologist cheerfully.

"Hi," Nate waves at him as he comes closer.

"Good to see you, man," G smirks. Really, he was already anxious for the psychologist to finally come. It's one thing to handle Marty and his condition taken for itself, but with him hospitalized and Marty in the post-ambush phase of life... Callen can't deny that this is something he'd rather have counseling for.

"Good to see you, too," Nate winks at him, "actually in pants!"

"God, yeah!" Callen laughs. Those really came as a relief. "Was the flight alright?" he asks.

"You know, it sucks when you are that tall. Or well, you don't know coz you are short," Nate huffs playfully.

"You're psychologist, I thought you were supposed to be nice," Callen smirks.

"No, I' m meant to be dead-honest with people," Nate argues.

"Well, have a seat," Callen motions at one of the chairs. Nate sits down next to him, "How are you?"

"Great," Callen says simply. Nate looks at him quizzically, so Callen goes on to explain, "I really am. You can ask the doctors, they'll confirm it. I'll be out little while from now."

"Great for you," Nate smirks.

"So... have you talked to Marty?" Callen asks. Obviously, that is the most important question here.

"Yeah, I did," Nate nods.

"So, how is he? I mean, I know you can't give specifics, but...," Callen grimaces, but he has to know.

"He seems okay so far," Nate assures him.

"Good. I already feared that, you know...," Callen grimaces.

"But I don't wanna lie, this incident was not exactly productive for his healing process, to say the last," Nate huffs.

"Guessed as much," Callen shrugs. No, to almost die in an ambush after your brother was stabbed... those are things no one would account for as "therapeutic" in any way.

"Marty is in a very critical phase now. He has to find himself, find out who he is. That is a long process, one that never stops, but due to his past experiences, he wasn't allowed to be himself during the time where he actually should have started this process already," Nate explains, "so such an experience is counterproductive, most likely, because we run the risk that he goes back to earlier patterns. A factor that still is of concern is his lack of self-esteem. We talked about this over and over, and you saw it yourself. He hardly takes any praise."

"Yeah," Callen sighs.

"Paradoxically, Marty is still very far in his development despite his emotional troubles. What makes his treatment so hard at times is that he is aware of what is going on with him. He knows that certain mechanisms and mannerisms come from trauma. To some degree he even knows in how far that is so. It would be far easier to 'treat' him if he were unaware of this, because we would have the opportunity to unravel those traumas together, but Marty is already past the stage where he unravels. He already knows," Nate tells him.

"I never should've let him read up all that psychology stuff," Callen shakes his head with a chuckle.

"It's not solely about that. Just because you know a theory, you don't know how to apply it. Marty just has a very fine sense for that," Nate says.

"... but how do I help him with that... new situation, with his development and all?" Callen asks.

"Well, the plan stays the same. We talk to him, you talk to him, I talk to you, we talk in the group sessions together. He formulates his own opinion and self-picture. Through exercise, he will hopefully learn that he can control himself and is not just a mean machine meant to destroy. That will help him a great deal, I believe. A sense of self-control will aid him in removing this chaos he constantly talks about. He needs clear structures to work in. That is what you offer him now, or once you're back out of hospital. But the far more challenging enterprise will be to heighten his self-esteem. Honestly, we will have to see what works best. There is no potion I can prescribe to remove all doubts, I really wished I did, but... well, that's reality," Nate shrugs.

"Sadly so," Callen sighs.

"I hope that I get a better picture of that through a few more sessions alone with him, but I think we will work out a strategy everyone will be happy with," Nate assures him, "and rest assured, you'll get your fair share of single sessions also."

Callen rolls his eyes at the psychologist. They always have to after they were injured in service... and now with Marty, G hardly finds any reason to deny a session. Or else Nate and Hetty kill him. Just like Marty, G hates to talk feelings, but... for Marty he'll do it.

"I just want him to be happy again," Callen exhales after a longer pause.

"That's what we all want," Nate assures him.

"... I wish I could've spared him all that from the beginning," Callen runs his hand over his face, "like... _everything."_

"Sometimes we aren't granted such chances," Nate argues, "I know you would've done anything if you had known about him, Callen. But you are there for him now, that is what matters. And trust me, Marty sees that. You aren't just the most important person in his life because of your shared heritage or because you are around each other so much, it is a very deep feeling of affection for you, he'd go great lengths for you, just the way you do for him."

"He said it like that?" Callen blinks at the psychologist.

"Not exactly like that, but... he expressed how much he cared about you," Nate smirks. Callen bites back a tear, "Fuck, the medicine makes me all emotional."

"Hey, is okay. This is a rough time now. Then it does good to hear such things," Nate smirks sympathetically.

"You have no idea," G lets out a shaky breath. He knows that Marty cares about him. And Marty knows that he cares about him the same way, but... it's really nice to hear it once again. It gives G hope that they can pull this off after all.

"Yeah, I can say that I don't have long-lost siblings from rough background on my list," Nate chuckles.

"Not all are as lucky," Callen smiles.

"No, not all," Nate shakes his head.

No, not all have that much luck in life – so much luck that it even reaches through all bad luck and darkness.


	28. Homecoming

Author's Note: As always, thank you for reviewing and reading my story... secondly, I'm royally sorry that I took this long to update, but with the new semester starting, my mind was simply elsewhere, and then I was caught up with another story, so... it took me a while to return to this - and actually be in on it again. Though I hope that I find back on-track from now on.

As a fair warning (mini-spoiler): I know that the case will be in a passive voice and that some of you may have hoped for more investigation and so on, but I felt like dedicating an entire chapter, possibly more, wouldn't do much for the storyline itself. I still have something in mind and, given that this somehow plays out the way I want it to, for that I need it just that way. So, please bear with me. This actually is supposed to make sense in the end. If not... I will revise and then add that later on, but for now... I don't.

As always, I hope you'll like it.

Read, review, enjoy ;)

* * *

A few days later, Marty and Sam are on their way to hospital.

"So? You excited?" Sam smirks at the teenager. He just gives it a shrug of his shoulders, "Sure. How couldn't I be, huh?"

Sam silently grins to himself as they pull into the parking lot. No, it goes without saying that the teenager is just glad to finally put an end at least to this problem. They get out and walk inside.

"I see you're already ready to go?" Sam smirks as they come into Callen's room. He is already dressed in one of his usual shirts and some sweatpants and sitting on the bed.

"I sat like that since yesterday," Callen smirks. Marty quickly comes up to him and hops up next to him on the bed. Callen snakes his arm around the teenager, pulling him close once, "Good to see you, buddy."

"Good to see you, too," Marty smirks, both making a silent note just how easy it feels to be that close all of a sudden. Even if this "experience" brought out some very frightening demons, it also brought them closer, if it is only that they can now sit like that and not feel uncomfortable about it the least, regardless of the trouble looming above them.

"You already signed all papers?" Sam asks.

"Yeah. I just need my pills and then I'm out of this place," Callen grins. And really, he couldn't be gladder to finally get away from this room, this hospital, the disinfectant, the all-evading white color. G was going insane in this white room... a room with Marty only there during the visiting hours. And a room that kept him from Marty when he was in grave danger. Perhaps that is the reason G's skin crawled ever since that night – because a room, this godforsaken injury, kept him from his brother when he should have been there for him. Even if Callen is mostly past the point where he is blaming himself, of course a part of him will always do, the thought didn't leave him. It made G realize just how little it takes to get between Marty and him. One incident, one wrong move is enough for that fragile bond to be shaken, almost shattered. As much as he hates it, if this incident showed Callen anything, then it is that no matter how strong your love and affection for someone may be, reality can get in its way and destroy it.

"Okay, then I get that for you," Sam agrees.

"You're such a nice partner, you know that?" Callen winks at him.

"You have no idea," Sam rolls his eyes. "I'll be back in a bit."

Sam heads out to gather everything ready. And he's happy that things between Callen and him are finally good again. After all, Sam honestly feared that G would bear him a grudge for what he let happen to his little brother. Yet, they moved past it, and it feels just the way it used to, if not better, actually. Their partnership survived even this low. And this low was _very_ deep, after all. It's Marty they are talking about, and it's no longer a secret to anyone that Marty is now Callen's newly found center of the universe. Yet, the partners came to terms, which means that their partnership and friendship grew only stronger.

"So... you okay going back into the man cave?" G asks his younger brother.

"_Man cave_? Seriously?" Marty huffs.

"Well, it's not Sam's fancy house," Callen winks at him.

"You should know that anything with a roof on tops is fancy to me," Marty smirks, actually surprised for a second that he can joke about it without feeling sadness flooding him.

"Well, as fancy as our apartment may be, the food will definitely not match Michelle's," Callen snickers.

"We have potroast and casseroles for the next three weeks," Marty smirks. "Michelle cooked tons in advance. She said that she fears that neither one of us gets something to eat if you're still down after the injury."

"Oh, that's convenient," Callen grins. Actually, it's _more_ than convenient. This makes G realize just how much of great friends he has. They take in his brother when he is in hospital, and even bother to fix some food for them in advance so that they don't have to worry about it. One thing Callen has to admit is that he didn't see it that clearly until Marty bumped into his life. Of course they were G's central point in life. Until he got to know Marty, Callen only had his friends as family, but it feels closer now, more real. For the first time in a long time, G feels like he is no longer just pretending normalcy, a feeling that he had for a long while. That is also why he refused to get himself a place at first. To G it felt like pretending to have a place when he had none or at least didn't feel it as such. And honestly, even when Callen spent time with one of the guys, it always felt a bit detached. He never stayed the night, if not on some mission where they were stuck together anyways, he never partied too hard or revealed too much about himself, not even to Sam. Even if it's messed-up and often overshadowed by outrageous drama and problems, it feels more normal now. If this experience brought him anything, then it is a deeper feeling of trust for his friends. Despite the trouble of the ambush, G learned that he can entrust Marty into their hands. He can... let go. And G honestly didn't think this would ever happen.

"So how did the girls take your departure?" Callen asks.

"Oh goodness. It was awful. They just clung on to my legs and wouldn't let go... and they cried. I felt so bad for them," Marty admits with a grimace.

"Oh dear," Callen frowns sympathetically. "But you shouldn't feel bad. You can see them as often as you want... or as often as they want, respectively. I know they are quite bossy."

"I just can't stand it when kids cry," the teenager admits, biting his lower lip. No, to the day, his skin crawls when he hears a child crying. Marty long since gave up on the idea that this will ever possibly leave him. It is just too deeply ingrained into his system by now. As it seems, some things just never let go of you, no matter the circumstance. Some tears just won't dry.

"I know, but it wasn't like they actually cried because of something bad. Sometimes kids just cry," G assures him quickly. He knows that Marty is having a hard time seeing children unhappy. Given his past, it is no miracle, really. Marty did anything to make those children in the ring better, even in the darkest hours of life. If you devote yourself to something that deeply to even put your own life on the line to keep the worst pains from them, then it stands to reason that this doesn't just pass you when you hear that familiar sound inside your head again.

"Yeah, might be," Marty sighs, managing to flash a smirk. He doesn't want the past to cloud the present day, not if it's such a good day, actually. Sorrow can come some other time again, just not now.

"Okay, I got everything," Sam declares as he walks back in with a bag with pills... and a wheelchair.

"I will not sit down in that thing, you know that, right?" Callen huffs.

"We are required to by the laws of the United States of America. That means you do," Sam smirks.

"I'm an agent, I stand above the law," Callen snorts.

"You do not," Sam snorts. "Look, it's either that you act like an adult and let me wheel you to the entrance, or we just sit it out until you go with option one anyway, because there is no other option. So let's just get over with it, or else I'm reconsidering on taking pictures."

"Fine, fine. Sometimes I have the feeling that my work-wife is quite bossy also," G snorts playfully.

"Work-wife?" Sam narrows his eyes. "I'm _so_ taking pictures and give them to the analysts to spread them all over the internet."

"I will smash your phone, and you know it," Callen snort as he gets off the bed and eases down in the wheelchair.

"Now, was that all so difficult?" Sam huffs playfully as he gathers G's bag over his shoulder.

"This is torture," Callen makes a face.

"No, just foreshadowing what your future will look like," Sam jokes. "I already see you, old, grey, in a wheelchair, a checkered quilt over the lap..."

"Please, stop!" Callen cries out dramatically, but then he actually has to smirk. Because he saw it, too, for a brief moment. G doesn't know why exactly or how, but this is the first time in years that he actually thinks about a future that reaches further than a year at tops. For a moment Callen saw himself as this old gramps in the wheelchair, safe for the checkered quilt, he hates quilts. But when his eyes fall on Marty, he knows how that picture crept its way up behind his eyelids. It's because of him. In a twisted way, to say the least, Callen dares to think into a future that doesn't revolve around the job. And that means there is a future in which he doesn't die on a mission, but actually of old age. And even if the here and now actually calls for the former option... there is still the faint chance for the latter. And that makes Callen honestly _hopeful._

They finally make it to the entrance and the moment they are past the gate, Callen almost jumps out of the wheelchair. Even if the prospect of growing old is tempting, he still has life ahead of him, and to walk around on not-white-tiles is such a great sensation that G only realizes it at this very moment. Marty is really right – you have to be without something to actually learn to appreciate it.

"You really don't like that wheelchair, I see," Sam huffs as he rolls it over to one of the staff.

"You should know by now," Callen smirks, blinking against the bright sunlight – another thing he honestly missed.

"Let's just get you to the car," Sam shakes his head. "The staff is probably just glad to finally get rid of you."

"What? They loved me," Callen huffs. No, they definitely didn't. Truth told, G annoyed all of them out of their minds. If he wasn't cursing at them to leave him alone, he was upset about Marty. If he wasn't upset about Marty, he refused treatment. If he didn't refuse treatment, he complained about the food. Callen knows it's absolutely childish, but honestly, he never felt comfortable around hospitals. And the way he figured, it's better to annoy the staff far enough so that they really want to get rid of you. That makes the difference between a week in hospital... and six days.

They make their way over to the car. Sam tosses G's bag on the backseat.

"Alright, everyone ready to get out of this place?" Sam says as he starts the engine, and the brothers reply in perfect unison, "Totally."

Sam drives to G's apartment. Once there, the three get out and make their way upstairs.

"Home sweet home," Callen breathes, taking in the familiar smell and sight. And honestly, it really starts to feel like home. Marty walks ahead when suddenly his cell rings.

"Oh, that's Nate," he grimaces as he glances at the screen. "I gotta talk to him, or else he will only assume that I go wild inside my head again... I'll just go into the bedroom, kay?"

"Sure, take your time," Callen winks. Marty nods, then answers the phone, "Yo Doc, how' the sunburn?"

With that he heads into the bedroom and closes the door, needing the privacy. Callen shakes his head with a soft smile as he allows himself to sink down on his couch. Sam puts down the bag to sit next to him.

"I bet you're glad that Nate's finally around," Sam nods at the bedroom door.

"Well, Marty did better than anyone thought, I guess. I mean, he had no major panic attack whatsoever. That's a miracle to me, still. He freaked for less things before... but it's still reassuring to know him around now. In case something's up," Callen admits. "But... I build on the development we just got to see."

G is glad that Marty is faring far better than could be estimated after that experience, and the revelations that inevitably came with it, about Marty's fear of turning violent, of killing someone. The kid actually manages to smile, honestly smile. That he talks to Nate now more often again, and seemingly easy-going, is something all take as a good sign also. When Marty refused to talk to the other psychologists, all feared that the kid would fall back into habits, but when they see him now, talking that casually with Nate, it allows them to be a bit more confident that Marty is actually not as bad as he could be.

"Yeah, me, too," Sam agrees. G lets out a shaky breath before he focuses on his partner, now with more seriousness.

"Okay, now serious talk," Callen says, his features tightening. "I know that you all kept information on the case from me in hospital and that Hetty's briefing only included the absolute minimum, but now I'm out – so I want to know what's going on."

"You're not back to active duty yet," Sam argues, though he knows that this is a lost cause, which is only confirmed by G's instant reply, "I don't give a damn, okay? Those people tried to attack my little brother – this is _personal."_

Sam glances at his partner another time, but realizes that G is deadly serious.

"Fine, is not like you won't learn anyway," he sighs, and Callen only agrees, "Right."

"Well, we figured that the men who moved into the house as well as those who spied on us were merely footmen. They were instructed by someone," Sam begins, purposely lowering his voice so that Marty doesn't hear them. He, too, received a summary, but it was more of a reassurance for the teenager to finally grasp that he was not at fault for the ambush – and that they didn't come for him. Yet, it's probably no good idea to constantly bring it back up for Marty. If he is supposed to move past it, he has to get a chance to do so.

"... but what was the purpose? I still fail to figure," Callen grimaces. It just won't go into his head – what would they want from them, in their houses? And what would they want with the kids?

"One of the guys started to talk and gave in under the pressure. He admitted that they were simply supposed to make a _statement_. Their boss gave them our addresses. They drove there, and wanted to cause havoc. The guy said that they didn't know anything other than the order to drive to the addresses and cause some chaos. They didn't know what we look like, or who was where," Sam goes on to explain.

"Why would they risk that much? I mean... did they really think it'd work?" Callen huffs.

"Well, from the sound of it, they are not as much of a smart group after all. They simply had a lucky shot with the missile codes. You saw it, they even took the wrong direction when they came to the case. The same is true for the guy who... shot... in Jasmine's room... The others quite openly admitted that he is an insane bastard they only call for the dirty work – and at the sound of sirens simply freaked out. As I said, stupid minions who didn't know better," Sam growls. And such bastards managed to get to him. No, that won't ever leave Sam. That much is for sure.

"Even if the footmen were stupid, why would someone who's actually capable of getting our friggin' addresses be so idiotic to try to threaten us just to make a _statement?_ He knew this wouldn't bring him the codes back," Callen snorts, and Sam nods, "We asked ourselves the same question. As far as we figure, the purpose was actually to play out time. In the suitcase they received was actually no real money, but a flash drive with information for a bank account. Because we got all men, they actually hoped that the buyers didn't know about this yet and would transfer the money, not knowing that they were taken up. We could trace back the buyers to Mexico, but they went over a series of bank accounts around the globe to disguise it, so the transfer took longer anyway."

"So the idea was to play out time for the buyers to give the money. And they hoped that distracting us would actually work for them so that they could get away with the money before the buyers noticed that the bargain went wrong," Callen grimaces. It's odd, but it's at least making more sense than a simple revenge act.

"That's what they told us. We found matching bank accounts and transactions," Sam goes on, but Callen questions, "But what about the boss? Do we have him yet?"

"They gave us a name and we had a raid," Sam nods.

"Yeah, Hetty's... mentioned that," Callen agrees. She gave him the absolute minimum of information – and that was that the team had a lead and would have a raid, nothing more, much to Callen's annoyance, but he long since understood that arguing with Hetty is a lost cause. That woman always gets what she wants.

"But when we came there... all dead," Sam grimaces.

"Seriously?" Callen blinks.

"I thought the same, but after we identified all bodies there, it looked like the buyers didn't take the bait. They had a classic shoot-out in a warehouse that turned out deadly," Sam explains.

"What happens in Mexico... better stays in Mexico," Callen huffs. "But what about our addresses? How did the boss get them?"

"The boss also bought the information. All we found was an encrypted e-mail to a hacker in which he asked for information on us," Sam explains, biting his lower lip, but Callen still isn't convinced, "How does a hacker get to us like that? We have Eric and Nell."

"Well, the guy's better than one could think after this jackass ambush this group started. You'd have to ask Eric and Nell for the specifics, but to put it simple – he actually managed to appear in the network as a person who was allowed to get access to the information. It looked like this was actually for a report or something like that, or so I figure, which is why no one really bothered at first," Sam shrugs.

"Do we have him?" Callen asks.

"Yeah. As smart as he was, we still have the best technicians, so Eric and Nell managed to trace him down," Sam nods. When they got into his apartment to take him into custody – the hacker's face was just priceless, and at least a little satisfaction for so many other things gone wrong.

"But why did he just search for the addresses and nothing more?" Callen frowns.

"The boss didn't have money for more information. After we blew up his plan, his wallet was empty anyways. The hacker isn't cheap, so the boss had to live with what he could get – and that was the names and addresses, no more, no less," Sam replies.

"That's... not really satisfactory in my opinion," Callen sighs, leaning back slightly, glancing at the ceiling.

"I know what you mean, but we have all men we could find. I guess that this is as far as it gets, for now," Sam shrugs. When the case drew to a close, all agreed that at some point... it seemed too easy, but that is the only explanation. Actually, the debate within the team was more than heated, because they wanted to test out more, find more leads, in all direction they could come up with, but it took Hetty's stern insistence that as much of a personal challenge it is for them all, they have to let it go – until there is perhaps something new. They can't interrogate the boss anymore, so they have to live with what they got.

"I really would have loved to shoot the boss in the face myself, I tell you," Callen grunts.

"Me, too," Sam agrees.

"So... the case is closed?" Callen frowns.

"For now, yeah. We have an eye on it, but for now, there is nothing much we can do about it. From the looks of it... it was just a string of very unfortunate circumstances that all added up to this disaster," Sam shrugs. "And at some point I think that we just want this to be bigger because we are agents and so well-protected actually. I didn't want to admit that some stupid gang can get that close to us by dealing around with the right people at the right time, but... that happens, seemingly."

"... you already updated your alarm system, didn't you?" Callen smirks at his partner, who shrugs his shoulders, "Of course. And Eric and Nell are instructed to make sure that this never-ever happens again and someone just gets our addresses."

"Yeah, that really wasn't supposed to happen," G can only agree. "Any of it."

"Fully with you on that one," Sam sighs.

"... so we just let it go?" G frowns.

"That's what Hetty told us... I mean, what else do we have left? We could make this a personal vendetta... for what? Just to find out that there is more stupid people doing stupid things? We have all those people we know of that were there and caused us trouble – I think that is more than we could wish for," Sam shrugs.

"So I don't get to kick anyone's ass for what they did to us?" Callen huffs playfully.

"... I kicked one in your name," Sam smirks.

"So considerate," G grins.

"Well, I think it' time to head back out. In contrast to you, I actually have to work," Sam says, clapping his thighs as he gets up. "I think Marty told you that Michelle prepared food for you. Is all in the freezer already."

"Hey, if you and Michelle ever break up, I will gladly take her," Callen winks at her.

"You know, if you weren't still recovering from a stab wound, I would hurt you really bad now," Sam huffs with a smirk tugging at his lips.

"You know how it is... I'm just taking the little advantage I have of the stab wound," G shrugs.

"Okay, I'm heading out. And remember, no one will let you into the building until next week, so don't even try," Sam smirks.

"Alright, alright. I'll see you around," Callen winks. Sam waves as he heads to the door, "Is good to finally have you out of hospital, partner. Bye."

With that Sam takes off. Callen smirks to himself, easing against the backrest of the sofa. As if on cue, Marty comes back out of the bedroom and flops down in the seat next to him.

"So? Everything alright?" Callen asks.

"Yeah," Marty nods. "Well, I had a nightmare last night, so that's why Nate's stalking me with phone calls."

"Oh," Callen grimaces, but Marty assures him quickly, "But not too bad. I'd say... a five."

"That's good... I mean, not _good,_ but... you know what I mean," Callen winks at him.

"Yeah, I know exactly what you mean," Marty smirks. That is seemingly their philosophy when it comes to Marty's condition. It's good, but not _exactly_ good. It's not good to most people or for most children, but then again, Marty is not like most children. What is good for him or to him is nothing to other children, while at the same time the "good" Marty defines with his very being is like a blazing light in a long tunnel of darkness – and isn't that the far greater light than the one that comes out in bright daylight?

"Do you want to talk about it?" Callen asks.

"... I suppose it goes without saying that it revolved around all this here," Marty shrugs.

"And what exactly?" Callen asks tentatively.

"It wasn't even making any sense. It was just a mesh-up of what was going on in the last couple of days. It was dark... a lot of dark purple and red in the background. And then there was you, stabbed, on the ground, and the girls lay right next to you, shot," Marty says in a hushed voice, licking his dry lips. The teenager sucks in a couple of deep breaths to regain focus and push the dark purple and the blood away from behind his eyelids.

"... and that's a five?" Callen grimaces.

"... well... when I saw it, I was terrified of course, inside my dream. But then... I remembered that this wasn't true and I... I just woke up," Marty shrugs. "I asked Sam. I didn't scream or anything. That's why I know it was just... a real bad nightmare like everyone has it once in a while."

"So you're really okay?" Callen asks cautiously.

"Yeah... Nate and I went over this and now I know that my head was just trying to make sense of what happened by somehow putting it back together in this wicked way. And I know... it was just a dream," Marty nods his head. Just a dream. That is what he always calls to his mind when he has such consuming nightmares. It's just a dream. Reality is some other place. And he can return to it. He just has to open his eyes – and there will be light again.

Marty turns his face to meet Callen's eyes, before he asks in a whisper, "Did you have any... since... you know?"

Callen blinks for a second. Marty never asked him about this matter before. He generally never asked Callen about his dreams. As the older brother figured before, Marty, even though he no longer denied or kept from him that he himself had them, tried to avoid talking about the content of those dreams with G. Thus, it really surprises him to hear Marty speak up about the matter and actually ask about G's dreams. To Callen, the reason why Marty bypassed asking him was because the teenager is smart enough to figure that talking about someone else's experiences usually leads to talking about your own – at least that is something they often end up to do. Or Marty simply felt too hesitant to ask his brother something the teen considers as private as the dark corners of his mind and imagination. Callen discussed that with Nate, when it came to how to deal with Marty and his nightly terrors, but the psychologist only advised him to let Marty decide on what he gives away and what he doesn't – and G went with that. So to have him questioning... it's _definitely_ something new, and Callen finds himself torn between two sides. The one considers it a success that Marty opens up to him like that... the other is not only hesitant, but also irritated. Callen never talked about his dreams with anyone else but Nate. So it's a novelty to him in that regard also, but far more importantly, he fears that Marty might take it badly.

The problem with testing the waters is... that you still run the risk to drown after all.

Callen is brought back to reality as his eyes refocus on Marty's baby blue orbs, which look at him not begging or demanding, but searching, seeking, curious. G licks his lips, thinking about an answer before he actually speaks up, "Yeah."

"... what were they about?" Marty asks, but then quickly adds with a nervous undertone, "but you don't have to answer that. Like at all. Is just... I'm ugh..."

"No, it's okay. I mean... we're supposed to share, right?" Callen smirks nervously, but then stumbles over his own words as he recapitulates on them. He is supposed to encourage Marty to think outside the box of "we should", "we have to", "we are obliged to", "it's supposed to be like this" - because that won't help Marty think of himself independently. Those words, however, always imply that someone else is still pulling the threads above his head, making him move this way or another, or at least expecting him to. And Marty won't gain self-confidence from that... And then again... Callen never knew that words had such a power, really, or that they could have to him. One wrong word can give an entire conversation a different twist, for better or worse, change its meaning, change its perspective - and cut deeper than could be estimated.

He quickly adds, "Though we are not forced to do anything. I mean... that is what we... want."

One of the odd things is that sometimes it's so easy to discuss even such emotional topics with Marty. Then both just share without preparation. They simply talk, as it was with discussing their injuries, for instance. But at such moments, it's like writing a text and already failing at the first sentence. You know exactly what you want to get across, but then you are so caught up in getting it right upon first try that you end up making a mess of it – and it's nothing like you want it to be.

"I know what you mean," Marty nods, flashing an uncertain smile. He knows just how hard his brother is trying to bypass these terms. Nate told him that they want to raise his self-confidence, so this is probably G's way to make at least sure that it isn't lessened in some way. And honestly? Marty finds it funny most of the time, because it does not only create those awkward moments of struggling for the right words, but also his brother's care that reaches so far that he rethinks every of his sentences to make sure they help Marty. Even if the teen personally never gave too much on the words. They are just words, sounds that signify a certain set of meanings, and those, again, are always up for interpretation. And Marty always interprets them against the background of his brother's care. G would never say something to him to hurt him. So for as long as he understands words in that particular way... how could they do harm to him?

"Well, returning to the question... I guess they were a bit like yours, just that it was you who...," he grimaces, having to pause for a second before he carries on, "died."

"How did I die?" Marty asks, and Callen can't make out whether this is mere curiosity or something entirely else.

"Mostly shot... because that's what almost happened, I suppose," Callen admits, searching his brother's eyes for a reaction, but can't make it out yet. "Why do you ask?"

"It's just... it's actually 'nice' to know that I'm not the only one whose brain leads to the darker corners of the cosmos," Marty grimaces. "I mean, it seems almost natural that I freak at everything and everyone and that I end up having those nightmares because my system tries to somehow incorporate that into the mainframe of my past bad experiences, to say the least."

"I guess all of us didn't have too restful nights after this incident, well, maybe safe for the girls, because they don't know what went down, but... as for us, I don't think anyone came out of this unscathed in that regard," Callen says, almost in a reassuring voice... though it doesn't seem very _reassuring._ The more people have bad dreams because of this... the worse the actual situation, isn't it? Yet... as it is with the term "good", "reassuring" is seemingly another concept that gains new meaning now. It's not about hearing some good news necessarily, but that you... share someone's pain. That you are not alone with this dread. And in that sense it's actually quite reassuring – because that means you are no longer carrying that heavy cross alone. You are not the only one lost in darkness and insecurity.

"I didn't have dreams until two days ago," Marty says after a short pause, not looking at his brother this time. "I mean... in the aftermath of the ambush."

"Okay," Callen grimaces, not exactly knowing where Marty is heading with this all of a sudden.

"It's just... ugh, how do I put this now...? Well, okay, so when I realized that I didn't have any dreams I could remember, I was actually quite... excited," Marty tells his older brother.

"Yeah, you told me that," Callen nods.

"But I started to question if that's actually good," Marty goes on, his voice more solemn now.

"Why?" the older brother frowns.

"Because I thought those non-dreams would just lead up to one of those nerve-wrecking nightmares from a while ago," Marty admits. "I know that I can't affect it when they come or that they come, but... I don't want them to come."

"Me neither," Callen sighs sympathetically.

"Well, and now I had my nightmare... and I hope it will stay at that level, because thrashing is surely no fun," Marty gesticulates and Callen can't help but agree, "Surely not."

"... but then again I caught myself being... _confused_ about that," Marty goes on. "I mean, I get the most vivid nightmare after a mere _conversation_ about some touchy topic – throwing me fully back to the place with its smell, its sensations, its taste. I tell you, when I had this really bad one, I was right there. I could tell you each color, each hue, where what objects were, even the people I could describe to you in detail, every facial expression. I could tell you exactly what it smelled like, but this here? Not at all. It was... detached. I wasn't even actively taking part in it. And that even with the girls. I mean... that I didn't have a too vivid nightmare of you getting killed might be because I wasn't right there with you. So I can't really recreate it like I was right there, smell it, taste it, but with the girls? With the ambush? I was right there. I was not just close. I went through this, had all those sensations. And at some point I tell myself that I should have such a nightmare as a result, you know?"

"Well, dreams don't follow certain patterns," Callen argues.

"Yeah, no, it's just that... and I already discussed that with Nate to some degree... I just can't shake off this feeling that a part of me wants a dream that bad when it comes to you," Marty admits.

"Okay, uhm... I'm sorry, but I have to poke on that one – because I don't understand. Why would you want a bad nightmare about me?" Callen grimaces.

"... because I care about you," Marty replies simply.

"... yeah?" Callen can't help but frown, still.

"Shouldn't I have stronger reaction because of someone I care about than someone... I don't?" Marty argues. "I mean... rationally I get it that I unconsciously do things that I can't affect consciously. I can't make my dreams more intense because I care about that person more than others. But... irrationally... I'd rather take a bad nightmare coz of a person I care about than one about someone I never want to see again."

Nightmares are painful, no matter what characters play their gloomy game in it, or who is the real cause of terror. Yet, Marty can't help but feel disappointed that his mind seemingly didn't make the connection yet. The teenager will take pain – but only if it is for good reason. And good reason are those people he cares about. That is for when he is awake, but when Marty closes his eyes, his mind forgets about it, pushes it out of his memory, to some place far away that he can't fetch from to call it back – and he is bound to take pain because of things, images, memories, people, monsters Marty wouldn't take any pain for when his eyes are open and the lights are bright again.

"Well, to me... I rather have you experiencing a bad nightmare because of someone else but me. I wouldn't want to be the cause of any pain inside your head if I could help it," G argues, to which Marty can't help but smile sadly. "I suppose that none of us wants nightmares at all. We don't want them to be about people we care about because we don't want to see them hurt... or dead. However, we can't help it. That's our brain's doing. So you shouldn't make this any bigger than it is. You said it's a five. And a five is good. Because five means that it doesn't affect you too much for the time after the nightmare, remember?" Callen says in a soft voice.

"Yeah... you might be right," Marty agrees, leaning back against the backrest of the couch. "Nightmares suck."

"And with that you are surely right," Callen chuckles, allowing himself to ease back down also. And a comfortable silence sets around them as the light of the late day creeps through the curtains, dipping the room a tinge of orange.

So yeah, they are home. They are good... and that's... reassuring.


	29. Took You Long Enough, Mr Callen

Author's Note: Hello, everyone! Thanks for reading and reviewing, you're such a nice readership. And I'm so, so sorry that I took that long to update... _again_. I don't know what's wrong, but I just can't focus on the story! I'm honestly disappointed with myself – because I already have the ending written, and most of the stuff in-between also, but the bridges won't come to mind, argh!

Okay, so here the next attempt to finally find back on track with this story – so that I don't take ages with the updates again...

As always, I hope you'll enjoy it.

Read, review, and hopefully enjoy ;)

* * *

Callen and Marty make their way into the NCIS building, _finally._ Callen got the okay from his doctor yesterday, and even Hetty gave her consent that he can return to duty. And honestly, Callen couldn't be gladder to finally be back on the job. He always hated it to be stuck at home to recover after injury. Even if it was much nicer now with Marty around, G is and will always be a man of action. And to leave the team alone for such a long time, even if he knows that they well manage without him, always gave him a stomach-ache.

The two round the corner into the bullpen.

"Callen!" Kensi exclaims cheerfully upon seeing the team leader. "And Marty!"

"Good to see you, too, Kensi," Callen winks at her.

"Glad to see you back, partner," Sam winks at him. Callen winks back at him.

"Marty, you're sitting over at my desk for today, for the record," she declares, which makes both brothers frown at her, to which she shrugs, "You had him all to yourself for the past few days. I missed my TV-buddy."

"But we aren't watching TV," Marty makes a face.

"Do you want to put up a fight with me?" she challenges, but that is when Marty already takes his chair and scoots it over to Kensi, who grins victoriously, "Good boy."

Callen shakes his head as he returns to his seat. Actually, all of them came by to see them over at the apartment, Kensi, too, but it's pretty obvious that the teenager crept his way into her heart, and is now one of her best friends, actually. It probably has to do with the fact that both like the same things, especially TV and comics, so they always have something to talk about, but it seems something deeper-reaching, actually. Kensi wasn't always that open and so honestly cheerful. There were times when she'd actually withdraw. It's always hard to be operate as a trio – even if those three always managed greatly, but Sam and Callen knew each other longer than they did Kensi, which meant that they naturally shared a stronger bond of trust and understanding. Especially in the beginning Callen was concerned that the female agent may not get along with this team – because she lacked a partner by the time. However, she integrated well, which was why no one doubted her position on the team – and both male agents love and care about her like a little sister in a long time, which is why that was never much of a problem. Yet, she would have those days when she was simply the badass agent, tough as steel and on-target. She didn't want to talk about personal matters, and purposely bypassed these conversations. It changed later on, but then there was the breakdown that sent her back to that state. Yet, now with Marty around, she is much more open. She simply smiles more – something probably true for most of them, actually. So when Marty didn't come to the office for the time Callen was grounded must have been real torture for because she didn't have Marty around to talk to, at least she complained about it all the while to Sam, if only just to annoy him.

"So? What's the plan for the day?" Callen asks.

"I guess that you're still on light duty," Sam shrugs, though a small smirk tugs at his lips, fully aware of the reaction he is about to get, which follows suit, "Och, please, Doc said I'm fully recovered!"

"Hetty is very protective of her cubs," Sam snickers.

"I'm no cub, I'm an agent," Callen argues with mock vehemence. It's nice just how fast it's actually all the way back to normal. They banter, they laugh, they talk as though nothing happened, and isn't that already the most soothing relief one can get? Normalcy, even if it is not what most people consider normal, is a healing after such terrifying experiences. Just as Marty needs structures, for instance, so Callen soon understood that not only the teenager profits from the set structures, from the normalcy they define, but he, too – and perhaps on a wider page, the others also. On the job, no mission is the same. It's always different, always dangerous, unknown waters that may swallow you. The past case has proven just that. However, once you come off the mission, you can be certain of that one thing – the people you return to.

"And yet, Mr. Callen, you are an agent under my care, which means that I decide on whatever level of duty I put you," Hetty's voice rings as the petite woman makes her way into the bullpen. Typically for her, she has her hands folded behind her back, flashing her cunning smile at him.

"Fine, fine, I will not argue. This is actually so peaceful that I don't want to destroy the moment," Callen snorts.

"Now listen to that," Kensi huffs sarcastically. "I never thought this would ever happen."

"Me neither," Sam joins her, "where is my partner and what did you do to him?"

"I will change my mind if you keep on pondering on it," Callen threatens, though he knows this is a lost cause.

"Very well, for today, we will see that you, Mr. Callen, get back on track, so that means mostly paper work," Hetty grins at him with an air of mischief, though it's mixed with somewhat motherly concern also. She protects her cubs after all, with a steady hand.

"Wow, now I know what I returned to... paper work, that's... _amazing_," Callen shakes his head with a snort.

"Yeah, count yourself lucky, man, you have so much paper work to catch up with," Sam snickers.

"Seriously, Hetty?!" Callen exclaims mockingly.

"I only need them by the end of the week, Mr. Callen, so plenty of time to get them done," Hetty smirks at him, before she turns on her heel to walk up to Marty to hand him a book she held behind her back before. The teenager nods gratefully, and actually knowingly, before Hetty heads off wordlessly. Once she is out of eavesdrop, Kensi tilts her head to take a glance at the book.

"What's that about?" she asks.

"... I don't know, Hetty's just started giving me these to read," Marty shrugs.

"Which one did she give you?" Sam asks.

"The Iliad," Marty says, already flipping the book open. "I guess she wants me to do something productive... and not always make paper planes. She wasn't too pleased about the amount of trash I produced."

"That's some heavy reading, though," Kensi grimaces.

"I don't question. At first, she gave me _A Study in Scarlet_, and that was totally amazing," Marty smirks. As odd as it may sound coming form a teenager who spent considerably little time in school, Marty always loved books. Even during his time in the streets, he'd sometimes go to a public library and actually read in there – not to mention that such places offered a shelter for a few hours. However, Marty always liked reading, and that he didn't get much opportunity to dive into stories and fictions actually hurt him. Each little cosmos offered a sweet escape from the troubles still ahead of him by the time. In stories he could get lost completely, be absorbed into worlds painted beyond the white pages with black letters, to open his eyes in a different place, where the sun shined brightly and no one would do him harm.

A few days after the ambush, Hetty started giving him books. She never told him why or what to do with them, other than the obvious implication that he should read them. Marty knows from Callen and the others that one never knows with Hetty, but it honestly confused him that she gave him these without ever offering an explanation. As the teenager figured, it was her way to keep him distracted when Callen was still in hospital. However, she continued to do so when she came to visits over at G's apartment once he was out – and that was when Marty couldn't tell anymore what this was actually supposed to be good for. Though he honestly likes it – because even if her choice seems rather random, ranging all the way from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle over Twain to Homer, Marty honestly enjoys the ones she picks for him.

"Hey, but you can't become a total bookworm from now on, we get each other? I need you as my TV-buddy again," Kensi scolds.

"Of course not," Marty smirks, but then allows his eyes to drift to the book again, allowing his mind to lead astray to ancient times. The agents shrug at each other. You never know what Hetty has in her mastermind, and it's truly a lost cause to try to decipher it. And with Marty... if Hetty takes him under her wing, they might have the next mastermind on the way. And even if neither one of the agents says it out loud, all agree inside their head that they definitely have to watch out for that. One Hetty Lange is enough for humankind to handle. A second in the form of Marty might cause world-destruction. And so they resume to their paperwork while Marty curiously flips from page to page. Normalcy is a curious thing after all.

* * *

Later the day, Callen finds himself sitting with Nate once again, not because of a session about Marty, really, but the you-just-got-stabbed-talk that all agents have to go through before they can return to active duty.

"... so you're glad to be back, as I take," Nate shrugs. Actually, that is something fairly obvious. Even if Marty is Callen's new center in life, G is one of the most eager agents Nate ever came to meet, alongside Sam and Kensi. They don't want to be on light duty. They need action. They have to save the world. That is part of who they are, so he knows, and it's something no one will ever possibly take away from them again.

"Yeah, even if I didn't miss the paperwork, it's good to be around again," Callen agrees.

"Did you have more nightmares since the last time we talked?" Nate questions.

"No, ever since I'm home I had none at all," Callen shakes his head.

"So, we didn't really recapitulate on what happened when you got stabbed. Would you mind telling me something about that?" Nate asks calmly.

"If you are asking if I was scared or if I feel traumatized now, I assure you that I don't," Callen smirks, but Nate just looks at him in this certain way... _ugh_, the guy is too much of a good psychologist at times.

"I don't feel traumatized. Honestly. Other than those few vivid nightmares I had, I'm okay," Callen says, now more seriously. "And I wasn't afraid, really."

"Weren't you?" Nate questions.

"It happened way too fast for me to actually develop anxiety. I was focused on trying to bypass the blow," Callen argues.

"But when you lay there, stabbed, bleeding...," Nate says in a soft voice.

"It was just a big haste to me. Everything just blurred and... then I lost consciousness soon after," Callen argues.

"So nothing else?" Nate questions.

"Why do you ask when you think you already know the answer?" Callen huffs.

"Because you have to say it, not me," Nate shrugs.

"I was... okay, a part of me was afraid, but not for myself. I was afraid for Marty," Callen admits. "I mean, we discussed that at length already. That I could have died, leaving Marty alone is... terrifying, to say the least, but at that moment I was just... I didn't know what would become of him. And that scared the living crap out of me."

"It's different now with having someone under your care," Nate nods. "You're no longer alone."

"Right. I mean... I knew that ever since Marty moved in with me, but... but that's the downside, actually. I'm no longer alone. That means if something happens to me, it will fall back on Marty. He has no one, does he? I mean, other than the guys and all."

"Seemingly," Nate shrugs.

"Or is there...," Callen grimaces mindfully.

"What do you mean?" Nate looks at him.

"I still ask myself what it is about his parents, to be perfectly honest...," Callen suddenly breaks out. He gave it quite some thought over the past few weeks – and the more G thinks about it, the stronger becomes the pull on his chest and neck that something is really wrong about this situation.

"Why?" Nate asks, purposely keeping his voice leveled.

"He doesn't talk about them, _at all_. I mean, they were there, right? Or are... I don't know what happened to them. I asked him a few times, but he just rebuffs me," Callen grimaces. Nate has to try really hard to suppress a grin. Something that is actually odd about those two brothers is that they very often start to talk about each other, and not themselves. Marty will go on to talk about Callen, and Callen will always end up talking about Marty. Even if it is not always that productive on the therapeutic level, Nate can still gather all information necessary, just from a different sender.

"And I can't help myself but think that he does that because he doesn't trust me to... know," Callen admits. "I mean, did he tell you something?"

"I can't talk about that, Callen," Nate shakes his head.

"Why? I mean, you tell me some things," Callen argues.

"Only if they were touched in the group sessions, if it is something you have to watch out for, or if I have his explicit okay for it," Nate argues. "Just because we are friends doesn't mean I can just go ahead and tell you some secrets he shared with me. I'm his therapist. And I made an oath."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I know...," Callen sighs. "It's just... I thought he trusted me."

"He does, I can assure you of that much," Nate argues. "And you should know also. Marty trusts you a great deal, remember?"

"Not when it comes to that part of his past... or other than what he allows himself to give away about his past, which is little," G mutters. They shared a few stories, a few moments, but Marty never revealed much about his biography. At some point, Callen doesn't even know where he is from. He never talks about his parents, his friends. Even the stories from out in the streets are rather rudimentary, small snippets that don't allow Callen to see what is supposed to become of that puzzle by the end of the day.

"It's not little for Marty," Nate shakes his head vehemently. "We talked about this, only shares those things he is ready for."

"But what is it about his parents? I mean... he said they are gone, but gone could mean many things, and back when he told me that, we were strangers," Callen grimaces.

"He told CPS that...," Nate shrugs, but G intervenes, "He could have told them shit also, and I don't think it's unlikely. That's something you and I know very well. Marty can lie to someone's face with little effort, especially if he's hostile towards them."

And towards CPS Marty was obviously more than hostile, Callen remembers.

"It's something only time will show, I guess," Nate shrugs. "We can make up theories all we want, but we won't know unless he tells us."

"I could run an investigation," Callen shrugs.

"If he finds out, we will have more problems than gain, be sure," Nate warns him.

"You think Marty would resent me for that," Callen grimaces.

"Not _resent_, but he'd hold it against you. And that is something we should do anything for to bypass. You said it. You're Marty's central person in life, the one who didn't deceive him yet, who didn't do him any harm until now. You have to be aware of that position. You are the one person he trusts, so you shouldn't throw that all away just to learn that bit about his past."

"Yeah, it's just... I can't stand the thought that he can't talk to me because he doesn't trust me on that level," G admits, kneading his knuckles absently.

"Give it a bit more time, Callen. Marty still has so much to process. I think that we still have some hurdles to take before we can work on those particular demons. Until then, just call to your mind that Marty wants to be with you and that he trusts you a great deal," Nate tells him. "And by the way, nice move to get around talking about your feelings."

He doesn't want Callen to dig into that too deep yet. He knows what an agent like G does once he picked up the scent of what might be called a _case_, a mystery to solve. Such agents want to decipher the world, want to decode their own world the way they run an investigation. That is extremely dangerous because that means people who are subjects to their lives suddenly become mere objects, Corpora Delicti. And they run the high risk to lose those people important to them by treating them that way, no matter how honest and well-meant those attempts may have been. The psychologist fears that Callen may do such a thing, out of habit, and that would backfire not only on the agent, but Marty also. Nate has something in mind to relieve the situation and perhaps take that as a starting point, but he has to talk to Marty before he can put that into practice, which is why he has to stop Callen at this point.

"I wasn't. Honestly, that was going through my head," Callen argues, though he can't help a smile by the end of the sentence, "I'm honestly concerned what will be with Marty if I am... no longer. I never had to think about that before. And this experience, or whatever you may call it, showed me that it doesn't take much for me not to be around anymore. It was close, too close. And I play this over inside my head: What would have been if I had actually died thanks to the stab wound? I mean, that happens all the while," Callen explains. "I just want to be sure that he is taken care of."

"Well, that is something you may actually change," Nate argues.

"If you want to tell me to take on a white-collar job – I'm not ready for that yet," Callen retorts, but Nate explains, "No. I know that you would probably go down if you had to, until way, way, _way_ later."

"Then what?" the agent frowns.

"You have a last will written, don't you?" Nate tells him. "If you want to be sure that Marty is with those people you trust with him – then make that clear in your last will. That is at least a start, don't you think?"

"You're actually right... I probably should've thought about that sooner, huh?" Callen grimaces.

"Well, in fact I know that you wrote that thing years ago and didn't touch it since. And other than your possessions and the way you want to be buried, it didn't contain much," Nate assures him.

"But... now I have something to clarify," Callen grimaces, getting the idea.

"So you see, even if this experience was horrible, you now know that the others are not just _willing_ to take Marty in, but that they actually _manage_, right? So if you trust someone to take Marty in, for when something happens to you... that might be worth to put down on paper," Nate offers. Callen nods in apprehension, "Yeah, that's... that's right."

"So, give it some thought, about how you want to arrange it. With whom he's supposed to stay or whatever. It's something very important – and also something you should discuss with Marty," Nate tells him. "He's part of this also."

"I bet he'll give me hell about it at first and say that I' just being morbid again," Callen chuckles, Marty's comments about visiting their sister's grave still vivid in his mind.

"It's not _morbid_, it's taking care of him for when you can't. Marty is part of your life – and that means that he will be part of the end of it also, most likely," Nate grimaces. It's never an encouraging topic to talk about, but especially for agents, it's something that needs to be addressed. They dance on that borderline every day. Every bullet they dodge may have been lethal, and that is something they don't just have to be aware of, but also something they have to consider for their plans in life, or how they want to live it – if they want to live the moment, or make neat plans, make sure everything is in place, or dread the moment, be scared. It's all possible, but something agents always have to be aware of, which is why Nate addresses it perhaps more often than he would with someone who is no agent, because they don't stand on that wall and look into the abyss most of their time.

"Yeah, I know...," Callen sighs. Talking about such things makes them more real than he wants them to be. Talking about one's death means that it comes closer to oneself, is a bit more palpable, a bit nearer so that you can feel the stale cold breath against your neck a little more intensely each time. G actually tried for a long time not to give it any thought, fearing that this would affect the way he'd do his job. He was afraid that if he allowed death, or the thought of it, more space in his life, he would pull away faster or step away from dangers more easily out of the fear of losing his life when he should have headed right into the danger zone. It was only thanks to Hetty's, Nate's and even Sam's insistence that he actually considered his last will a _last will_, and not just some requirement Hetty forced upon him to annoy the team leader. However, it now has a completely new and deeper meaning. Callen had developed the attitude that once you're dead, it doesn't really matter what happens to your things or to your body. It's just flesh after all, so it didn't bother him to cross one of the options for the burial. Neither did it bother him to say that he wants the guys to take from his things whatever they want – and then give the rest to charity. Even if Callen is not religious, he simply figured that he'd be some other place, which is why it didn't bother him what would become of his earthly remains. However, now Marty is in his life – and that means he has something he has to protect, even in death, in that other place, wherever that may be. G has to make sure Marty is safe and in good care – and he has to make sure that this is also what Marty wants, has to make sure that he can return to happiness once the older brother is no longer. So yes, having death a bit closer to you is no nice sensation, but a necessary deed to protect what you hold so precious in life.

"So okay, that's on my new to-do list... is it on mine also to return to normal duty?" Callen smirks. He wants to push the morbid thoughts away for now. They will come, he knows, and now he is actually looking forward to them in some way, because the possibility of his decease also includes the prospect of having Marty protected a little better. However, that doesn't mean he wants to wallow in it.

"I think nothing speaks against it," Nate shrugs. "And I know that even if I didn't give my consent, you'd just creep your way back in."

"You got it right," G smirks at the psychologist.

"Alright, that's all from my side for the day. I'll talk to you soon again, but then on the normal therapy basis," Nate winks at him.

"Okay, then I guess I can head back to work?" Callen grins.

"Yeah, you can," Nate nods. Callen gets up, "Alright, catch you later."

"Bye," Nate waves. With that Callen leaves the room. He closes the door, just to almost let out a gasp as he realizes Hetty standing in the hallway. She holds out a folder to him wordlessly. G frowns, but takes the folder anyway. Hetty simply walks away after that, a mischievous smile tugging at her thin lips as she is past him. Callen flips the folder open, just to find a whole package of papers about his last will in it. G glances up to see where Hetty is, but she is already gone. The Senior Agent scratches the back of his neck as he glances at the folder, only to discover a sticky note attached to the side: _T__ook you long enough, Mr. Callen_.

Just how does she know these things?!

Callen shuts the folder to pin it under his arm. The petite mastermind has spoken.

Hetty has the greatest ways to tell you that she told you so after all.


	30. Therapy & Work Out

Author's Note: I'm so, so, so incredibly sorry that I took this long with the update all over again. Anyone who's read one of my other stories will know that I have writer's block lately. And this one gave me a special headache. I hope that updating won't take me that long again. Though I already promised that last time... writer's block sucks.

Still, your reviews and feedback was so incredibly nice – so thank you very much! And thanks for the patience!

And for my French readers (though I apologize for my awfully bad French hereby): Merci beaucoup pour votre critique et les gentils compliments (particulièrement pour les commentaire au sujet de connaissance de sujets de psychologie. Je ne suis pas un expert. C'est un petit peut de recherche, et un grand peut d'imagination). Très gentil vous tous!

Anyway, I hope this chapter will be worth the wait ;)

As always, read, review, and hopefully enjoy.

* * *

The sun is standing low. The ground is blue. The sky is a mixture of brown and grey. Clouds drift against the wind. Birds fall down from the sky.

Marty smiles silently to himself as he glances out the window.

"Did you listen to me, Marty?" Nate asks, tilting his head at the teenager, who decided that he wants to sit on the couch upside down as he watches the world from below.

"Not really. I found the birds more interesting," Marty shrugs, his eyes falling back on the window again. "Sorry."

"I want to go over the security questions with you, so you should focus on me now," Nate argues, though he smiles at the teenager. Usually, the psychologist allows Marty to sit in whatever spot or position he feels most comfortable at. Especially in the beginning, Marty had to sit on the ground to talk about the touchier topics – and he still tends to, but it's becoming less. It was actually Marty who suggested that maybe he should try to sit upside-down to still be on a lower level, but without crouching, which he figured is not as bad as is the cowering on the ground or almost lying down if it gets really tough. And since Nate wants to make any effort to allow for Marty to come up with his own routines to reduce stress, he more than welcomed the idea. It means that Marty is actively thinking and dealing with his issues, which is more than a plainly good sign – it's an improvement Nate didn't expect to see in the teenager when he first met him. Of course he is well-aware of the fact that Marty is now having a high again – and that this is when progress happens. Furthermore he is conscious of the fact that this may change very fast. This process, as he already told Callen, is not linear, and doesn't go forward and up. Yet, Nate builds on Marty's hint of enthusiasm in dealing with his problems and trauma at least to some degree. He takes what he gets, easy as that.

"Okay, shoot," Marty shrugs, though he purposely stays in his position. It gives him confidence for some reason. The teenager doesn't really know why that is so... maybe that more blood circulates in his brain and makes him so nicely dizzy in the head so that he can see these fluffy white dots dance in front of his eyes. For some reason he always liked that.

"Okay, did you have any anxiety attacks since the last time we talked?" Nate asks.

"... only once," Marty grimaces.

"What happened?" the psychologist questions in a calm voice.

"We went to a new supermarket," Marty answers, making a face.

"Why did that upset you?" Nate asks.

"It was crowded coz it's new and... there was just too many people grabbing stuff," Marty replies, momentarily shuddering at the memory.

"So just the amount of people or something else also?" Nate questions.

"No, was more that they grabbed stuff," Marty admits, running a hand over his face. "... and since you are about to ask anyway, yeah, it made me think of how we got grabbed very often when in the ring. Big sale and all."

"How bad was the anxiety?" the psychologist asks, to which Marty answers, "A seven... maybe six, coz it passed fast, actually."

"Why?" Nate grimaces.

"G," is the simple reply.

"What did he do?" Nate asks.

"Well, once he saw I was getting anxious, he maneuvered us to the fishing equipment, because no one goes on to buy expensive fishing equipment when there is toilet paper and pudding on sale. We just waited till I was okay again. And after that it was okay. I even managed to stand in line for about twenty minutes, because people had to bring about five carts with toilet paper and pudding," Marty tells him.

"That's good," Nate nods. "So you didn't completely avoid the situation, but simply took a moment to calm down before heading back in. Very well, Marty. That's really good."

"I guess if I had been alone, I would've just cowered in the corner until someone would've come to get me," Marty grimaces.

"All in due time, Marty. Remember, we take things step by step. And that's a step we will only take once you are ready for it... and trust me, you are not the only one who feels scared when those people come down on the rummage tables like the plague of locusts," Nate winks at him.

"Good to know," Marty nods his head lightly.

"Did you have anything close to an eight to ten?" Nate goes on.

"No," Marty replies.

"Any nightmares?" the psychologist carries on.

"No bad ones," Marty shrugs.

"So you still had some?" Nate questions.

"Well, my dreams are not always a version of _Candyland_. I don't expect them to be either. The dreams I had were just not really nice, but I didn't wake up from them and I didn't have a panic attack thanks to them. So I guess they were not real nightmares, but just... dreams that sucked?" Marty grimaces.

"Was there a reoccurring topic or theme?" Nate asks.

"We already talked about this, I don't believe in dream interpretation," the teenager huffs.

"And that's not why I'm asking. I just want to know if this is a memory that plays over inside your head or if it is just something obscure like colors or shapes. That way I know if we have to dig further into it," Nate argues.

"... Which of the two options involves not digging into it?" Marty narrows his eyes at him.

"Your chances are fifty-fifty," Nate shrugs.

"Well, okay, honestly... it was actually more of the latter, and I don't say that because I think this will save me from digging into it. There was just lots of red again, which I guess was blood... or maybe tomatoes. I hate tomatoes... anyway, drifting off. It just made me feel uneasy. I don't know why," Marty admits.

"Well, that's something that occurred again and again in your dreams, so I think it is more of an underlying theme, actually," Nate nods. Marty holds up his hands almost triumphantly, "Awesome, not digging into it."

"Oh, we still could," Nate snickers.

"Don't always destroy the moment," Marty grumbles mockingly.

"Okay, how does it go with the drinking?" Nate changes the topic to bring Marty back on target. Even if the boy is very attentive, Marty likes to drift off especially in the sessions. As Nate figures, it's still a kind of barrier of self-protection for him. He doesn't want to talk about his feelings, that is obvious, even though he tries, of course. Marty knows he can't escape the sessions, but he can still escape the conversation by watching the birds flying by, so the psychologist figures. And sometimes he finds that actually helpful because Marty starts to relax when he allows his mind to drift, and then talking about touchier topics becomes actually easier, but only for a given time, and only for as long as Marty is receptive. Hence, it is very important to bring Marty back if he goes too far away.

"I drink out of glasses at home now almost all the time, if I don't find it more convenient to have a bottle... I'm okay if G pours the drinks at home, too... even if I don't see it... uhm, over at NCIS... I drink coffee out of a mug now. But the Gatorade has to stay bottled, still. Dunno," Marty grimaces. He knows how stupid this is. The teenager knows that no one will poison him in that building. And he is fine with the coffee, but for some reason, there are just times when Marty is not okay with it, or types of drinks that make his skin crawl. Colored juices or energy drinks make him sick if they don't come from a bottle he didn't open himself, though he is fine doing it at home, or to accept a drink from G in whatever the form. With the team... it depends. And Marty can't make any sense of that.

"Well, that's still a success, Marty. A few days back, you couldn't drink anything without pouring it yourself outside home," Nate argues. "That is what we do with the constant desensitization. We get you used to it until your brain makes the connection also."

"My brain seems rather stubborn on that one," Marty grumbles.

"Give it more time. I know that you want to move forward fast, but setbacks will always come your way, Marty," Nate reminds him.

"Yeah, yeah, we're not fine, we're okay step by step. It's a long way to happiness," the teen exhales.

"Okay, so now I want to discuss something else," Nate begins.

"... I don't like the sound of that," Marty makes a disgusted face, twisting around to actually look Nate in the eye now.

"Hear me out before you dismiss the idea," Nate argues casually.

"No way we postpone this?" Marty bargains.

"No, I will say it either way," Nate tells him. "Well, we didn't touch this topic in a while..."

"if we didn't touch it in a while, you're probably referring to... _that_... and I don't like that. I don't want to talk about it. No. I told you that I don't want that, Nate," Mart interrupts. Nate is actually glad to note that Marty is not as upset as he was last time he brought the topic up.

"And I don't ask you tell me," Nate argues.

"... okay, now I'm confused," Marty knits his eyebrows at him.

"I'd ask you to discuss the topic with G," the psychologist tells him. "And no, I'm not talking about giving everything away. However, you already told me a while ago why you don't want to talk about it. Don't you think that G should know that also?"

"Why would I tell him that?" Marty whispers. That is nothing people should know. He told Nate only to make him shut up – and Marty can still vividly recall what happened last time he touched that dark corner of his mind. It was one of the worst nights he's ever had, and Marty had many bad nights, about enough to fill ten lives.

"Well, try to imagine what it's like in his spot, Marty," Nate shrugs. "What would you feel like if G kept such a thing from you, or rather... doesn't want to tell you why he keeps it rather a secret?"

"Those psychology twists don't work on me," Marty argues dismissively.

"They are no tricks, I assure you," Nate shakes his head. "I know that you're not comfortable enough to talk to me about this yet. Neither are you ready to reveal everything, but maybe you could bring yourself to let your brother know at least enough so he can understand what's going on."

"Do you think he struggles coz I... well, you know?" Marty asks, biting his lower lip nervously. He didn't ever think that G would feel bad because of that. Of course the older brother wouldn't be pleased, that much even Marty could guess, but it never occurred to him that G may actually... hurt at this? And Marty doesn't want G hurt.

"Do you think he does?" Nate asks.

"... do you always come with a counter questions?" Marty grimaces.

"Do I?" Nate smirks. Marty snorts, but then decides to answer anyway, "He cares about me. So I guess that this is something he, ugh... worries about. I mean, I know he's seen some of my files when... we came together. It's just..."

"It's just what?" Nate questions.

"I don't want G to know so that he doesn't feel bad," Marty shrugs. "Because I know he will if I... even if..."

His shoulders sag almost defeated.

"... either way I end up hurting him," he sighs. "That sucks."

"Why do you think would it hurt him to know?" Nate asks.

"Not answering that," Marty shakes his head.

"Well, I don't want to rush you. Again, this is merely a suggestion. You seem much more comfortable talking to Callen about the touchy topics. You trust him more than anyone else. That is why I make this... offer," Nate explains. "It's your decision if and what you tell him. I just want to remind you that secrets always mean a kind of distance. And that distance is probably nothing you want, at least not between you and your brother. I know it's hard. Well, I don't know how hard it is for you, but I know that this is a task that's hard to carry out. I can't underline it often enough how well you progress, though, which is why I think you could handle it. However, the challenge stays that when you progress that fast... we remove more and more security nets. Maybe that is one you can live without, that's all I'm saying. You don't have to be specific, but maybe you can tell him why you don't want to talk about it, so that G knows. That way he will also stop asking you that much – which will probably be much more to your liking also."

"Won't it raise more questions?" Marty grimaces. He knows that this is how it usually works. You start with a topic, and then you are sucked in and you end up giving away more than you intended to. To Marty, talking about such things is always the act of opening a Pandora Box. There are always monsters that crawl over the rim of the casket to leap into your world – and cause chaos. And even if a situation doesn't go all the length to cause chaos, it still leaves him uneasy, and with this uncomfortable feeling that he is standing in that dark room again, only with a flickering spotlight above him as he stands there half naked, not knowing where but that the eyes are staring at him from the darkness.

"In that moment, surely, but if you are clear about how far you go, as you do it with me, G will accept it. Or does he overstep the boundaries with you lately?" Nate argues.

"No," Marty shakes his head. G does anything to make sure that he doesn't cross the line. Marty can't even put it into words how much he appreciates that G often uses gestures and not words to check. He doesn't always ask Marty how he wants his drink, he just taps at the glass – and Marty knows what it means and can simply nod or shake his head. No comments. No judgment. Just check. Or how the older brother maneuvered them to the fishing equipment in the supermarket. G just tapped him on the shoulder and guided him to the aisle with the fishing rods. G just knows. As Marty figures, he is now no longer the only one with that little radar inside his head, just that G's radar... is solely geared to Marty.

"Well, then maybe, once you feel ready for it, that is what you can build on. It doesn't have to be now, or ever, unless you want it to. I can't remind you often enough that this is your life – and that you make the decisions in it. I just point this out to you so that you are aware of, well, another perspective on both your situation," Nate tells him. Marty nods. That actually makes sense to him. Even if he was often told that he has a great deal of empathy for others and can really feel with them, even Marty finds it hard at times to put himself into another spot, see the picture some other way. He knows what is in this Pandora Box – and that it better stays closed, but he starts to understand that others, G namely, might feel attracted to the strange and obscure yet daring ornaments and wants to sneak a peek into that darkness. For some reason many find darkness attractive, so Marty learned. They want to know the dark stories, even if in truth they don't to get into touch with it. It's mere curiosity in the teenager's eyes to have that wish to just dip one's finger into the dark matter, hear a heart-wrenching story, so that they can pull their finger back out again – and see just how fortunate they are to stand on the other side of that dark world. At least that's how Marty sees it. With G and the rest of the team it's different, obviously. They ask out of care. It's the others, those spectators that do nothing but stare. And that makes them no better than some of the bastards who stood in the darkness and watched him with greedy eyes back when in the ring.

"Alright, unless there is anything else you'd like to discuss, I think we should call it a day," Nate says, much to Marty's pleasure.

"Awesome," he exhales as he gets up from his seat. He just wants away at this point. Maybe to the ocean? Then he could make yet another try to toss the box into the ocean and hope it doesn't come back this time. Or at home. At home he can simply forget about the box. Because G is there. In the end, that is all that matters to Marty. That G is there.

"Okay, I'll see you... next week," Nate nods. "Unless something's up."

"So we finally try the seven-day mark?" Marty smirks hopefully.

"I told you, the idea is to give you more freedoms," Nate smirks.

"Yay," Marty makes a mockingly victories pose as he crosses over to the door, but then turns back another time with a more serious expression, "but, uhm, Nate?"

"Yeah?" the psychologist frowns.

"Thanks," Marty says silently before he quickly exits. Nate blinks for a second, but then leans back in his chair, a small smile creeping its way up his cheeks.

…

After the session, Marty quickly makes his way into the bullpen, glad that the team is not on an active case at the moment – because that means he gets to be around them. And Marty always feels an incredibly strong urge to be around G and the others after a session, at least he developed that tendency since G was stabbed, now thinking about it. Before, Marty actually needed a bit time on his own before he was ready to be around them again, but now? Now he sees how good it feels to have people around him who actually care, who care so much that it amazes him to the day.

"Hey, you're back," G greets him as he approaches.

"Yep," Marty nods as he walks over to his chair and simply flops down next to his brother, who is occupied with filling out masses of paper forms.

"Did everything go alright?" Callen asks.

"Yeah," Marty nods, blinking at him briefly.

"Good," the older brother offers a soft smirk. Marty winks back at him before he allows his eyes wander over what he came to call home over the past few weeks. His eyes stop at the sight of Kensi, though, or rather at a whole stack of broken pencils. The teenager frowns to himself. Kensi doesn't look as cheerful as she usually does either. Her eyes are glued to the paper. Maybe she just has to concentrate? Marty takes out the book Hetty gave him to read, _Moby Dick_, but he actually does it so that no one realizes it when he is stealing glances at the female agent. After all, Sam and G don't act as though this was something weird or worth the concern, so Marty will have to figure out himself. As Ahab curses at the white whale, there is a loud snap, and for a moment, Marty is convinced he heard Ahab's leg bitten of. However, it turns out to be the next pencil Kensi crushed in her palm. She grunts some incoherent curses to herself before she grabs the next one, just to almost ram the tip into the paper. Okay, she is not in a good mood, that much is for certain. _Aggressive?_ Not really, she seems more frustrated than actually angry, though anger and frustration, so Marty knows by now, are close neighbors when it comes to Kensi. After the next pencil snaps, the young woman jumps up from her seat, grumbling, and then leaves the bullpen. And that is the moment Callen and Sam exchange a knowing glance. Marty takes the opportunity to ask, "What's wrong with her? Did something happen?"

"No, it's just this time of the year...," Sam exhales. Marty makes a face and turns to his brother for advice. Callen offers a shrug of the shoulders, "She always gets a bit... moody around her birthday."

"Kensi's birthday is close?" Marty blinks at him.

"Yeah, but she doesn't celebrate it. Like Hetty. Or me...," Callen makes a face.

"Why?" Marty frowns.

"That's... complicated," Sam grimaces.

"... so it's personal," Marty nods.

"Yeah, it is," Sam exhales before his eyes drift off to his computer again.

"She'll be okay," Callen assures the teenager. He knows that Marty cares a great deal about Kensi. He cares about them anyways, but with Kensi he had an instant connection. They share the same kind of humor – and she provides him with film trivia, comics, and the newest most awful TV shows to watch. So to see her angry or maybe hurt gets Marty upset of course.

"Hm," Marty puckers his lips, "sure."

Though he makes a mental note to keep an eye on that. Marty can't stand the thought that people around him are sad, for whatever the reason now. Actually, his philosophy of life expanded over time. Now, Marty is also good only if all are good. Of course G is still _the_ central point in it all, but Marty realizes especially during times such as these that he feels better when _they_ are better, and that includes every single member of that... _family._

They continue in silence. A few minutes later, Kensi also returns, now more calm again, after all, she now uses pens – they don't break that easily.

After a while, Sam lifts his head from his computer, "Oh, is about time!"

"Time for what?" Marty grimaces as the older man seeks eye contact with him. However, Callen just gives it a broad smirk, "It's _high_ time for some work-out."

"... so that's seriously happening?" Marty grimaces. Till last he thought that Nate was making a joke on his expenses. However, Sam already gets up, "That's happening. C'mon."

"... do I have to be scared? I mean... last time w were kinda... not into it with the meditation?" Marty grimaces. Callen chuckles to himself.

"Well, it'll be different now because the devilish duo won't be with you. And I take training seriously. Which means that you'll take it seriously, too. And that means that you'll behave anyways," Sam smirks at him.

"At some point I think that Nate's just trying to get back at me," Marty grumbles. Callen pats him on the back encouragingly, "It'll be alright. If he bullies you, you call, I come to the gym and save you."

"Save him? You'd stand no chance against me," Sam huffs.

"I'm sneaky," Callen smirks. Sam just rolls his eyes before he gestures for Marty to get up. The teenager does so, though it's obvious that he is reluctant. At some point he honestly hoped that everyone forgot about it. Marty doesn't want to dig into that. Just as he doesn't want to dig into his Pandora Box. Is that so hard to understand?! However, the teen can't go on with his musing much longer since Sam is already walking ahead to the gym. Marty, at a loss, simply trots after him. If he learned one thing about Sam by now then that he is a bullhead like any other of the team, maybe even a bit more. Ad so Marty soon finds himself in training's wear, G bought that without his notice, however, face-to-face with Sam in the gym.

"Alright," Sam begins, "first we'll stretch a bit."

Marty bites down whatever comment he has in mind and simply follows Sam's instructions.

"Okay, good," Sam nods, "so, I think we should start with seeing where you are at."

"Right now, I'm here," Marty makes a face.

"I mean your level of skill," Sam shakes his head. "We will just go through and see what we have. This is just to make sure that I don't push you. You wanna start with... some boxing?"

Marty grimaces as the older man hands him the boxing gloves. The teenager slips them on and Sam helps to tie them before he guides Marty to the sandbag. "Did you use one of these before?" he asks.

"Nope," Marty shakes his head.

"Okay, so I'll show you how you have to stand," Sam nods, taking his spot next to Marty, getting into position. "You have to part your legs. You as a righty will have to put your left foot a little in front so that you can punch. Like that."

Marty copies the stance. Sam nods, "Good. We will just punch a bit at first, no technique required. We want to get you tired."

"Oh, so that's the reason! G just wants to watch his lame documentaries in the evening," Marty jokes.

"_Nate's _order," Sam smirks as he walks behind the sandbag. "Okay, I will hold it for you. And I want you to punch that thing. Don't overdo it at first. We don't want you to hurt yourself."

Marty shrugs before he starts to hit the sandbag. The first punches are so hesitant that he barely touches the surface.

"You can try to hit harder if you want," Sam tells him. Marty increases a bit, but it's obvious that he holds back and isn't just too hesitant to deliver a good punch.

"Harder," Sam demands in a calm voice. "C'mon, you can do it."

However, Marty still pulls back before he can actually deliver a decent punch.

"C'mon," Sam keeps it up, but Marty just won't. Eventually, he pulls away, his long arms dangling down his sides, looking like oversized matches with the red gloves on his hands.

"I think I'm simply not good at this," Marty puffs. "Can't I just run some laps till I'm tired?"

"Marty, we train so that you get a chance to do just this here. Running is not about aggression or actual physical strength. That's about endurance," Sam argues.

"I don't see why I should do this, other than that Nate thinks it's a great thing," Marty argues. "I'm a good runner."

"Why so hesitant?" Sam asks.

"... that sandbag didn't do me anything," Marty jokes halfheartedly.

"He won't feel it, you know that, right?" Sam huffs.

"Still, I just don't... I don't feel like it," Marty grimaces nervously.

"Well, maybe the sandbag is just not your thing. That's no shame. How about we do some sparring, huh?" Sam offers instead, though Marty is obviously disappointed that Sam won't give up yet. The older man grabs the punch mitts and puts them on. "Okay, perhaps you do better when you don't have to punch some innocent sandbag," he offers, though Marty actually seems more upset now, so Sam adds quickly, "Those gloves make sure I won't feel it, okay? So no need to worry."

"... if you say so," Marty replies weakly, his eyes fixed on the black punch mitts.

"Alright, same stance as before," Sam tells him. Marty obeys and gets into position.

"Ready, go," the older man says and Marty starts to deliver the first hesitant punches once again. Sam waits a few hits, figuring that Marty may need a moment to adjust to it, but still, the teenager pulls back. Sam can tell it through his gloves. The teenager isn't simply too weak to deliver a decent punch, but always pulls away last second.

"Harder," he demands, but Marty doesn't. He increases the frequency, but otherwise, the punches are still too weak to do real harm. "Okay, stop," Sam says after a few more light punches. Marty pulls back instantly, catching his breath.

"Marty, what's the matter here, huh?" Sam grimaces.

"What?" Marty blinks at him. "I told you that I'm not good at this."

"Okay, do I seriously have to remind you of what you did over at my house a while back?" Sam cocks an eyebrow at him. Marty gulps. No, he still remembers, he can still feel that familiar prickling on his knuckles. Ad that makes him feel sick.

"... yeah," Marty exhales. "But that was something entirely different."

"I'm just asking you to punch as hard as you can, Marty. No harm's done," the older man tells him.

"I can't do this," Marty hisses, putting his gloved hands behind his head, pacing in circles.

"Why?" Sam asks.

"I don't want to do that for something else than protecting someone. It's supposed to be for... for those extreme situations," Marty argues. "And Nate can tell me all he wants that getting into touch with my darkside will solve that problem of mine. I don't want to be violent or hurt people in general."

"But you won't hurt anyone with these," Sam argues, pointing at the gloves. "That's why we wear them."

"I just can't do this, okay?" Marty shakes his head.

"You can and you already did," Sam argues sternly. "Look, boxing and things such as jiu-jitsu are not to hurt people. It may happen, but the primary focus is to either calm down, find your center, or to learn to protect what's important to you. If you have the techniques, you don't endanger yourself that much anymore. And you have more self-control. That's what this is supposed to do for you."

"Still, I can only fight if I... if there's like...," Marty grimaces, and that's when Sam understands. He steps closer to the teenager again, "Okay, now I see. Let's try something else."

"What now?" Marty grimaces.

"Close your eyes," Sam demands.

"What?!" Marty gapes. Why would he do that?!

"Just do it," Sam shakes his head.

"But...," Marty stammers, but the older man interrupts, "Close your eyes, concentrate."

"Fine," the teenager grumbles as he does so. "If we start to meditate, I veto, though."

"No, that's long since over," Sam smirks. "Now close your eyes."

Marty does so, letting out a few deep breaths.

"Good, now I want you to visualize something," Sam says. "I want you to think of the night the men came to my house, call to mind the feelings you had. The fear. The anger. I want you to picture their faces. The scent. Everything."

"... kay," Marty mumbles.

"Ad now I want you to imagine that this guy is standing right where I'm standing," Sam goes on. "And now you punch him as hard as you can."

"But...," Marty knits his eyebrows. However, Sam interferes, "Really visualize. Be right back in that moment. And don't hold back."

Marty swallows as he allows his mind to drift to that dark place inside his memory that he would rather forget about altogether, along with a fair share of other experiences he'd rather never had made in the first place. And that is when he sees those grey eyes meeting his and feels this pure moment of dread and fury rushing through him in waves. This absoluteness Marty never felt another way than in pure aggression. Because then there is nothing else. Just this. And that aggression is absolute. So he charges Sam, blindly, his entire anger transgressing through his body to his fingertips over to Sam. He punches, over and over, harder and harder. Marty sees that man bleeding – and it feels better than it maybe should, but then the fear for the girls comes back and Marty throws another hook, the next uppercut.

"Okay, stop," Sam says after a while of some serious dodging he now had to do. Marty instantly pulls back, holding his hands close to his chest, panting heavily, "Sorry."

"No, no, no, that was perfect," Sam assures him quickly. "You have one helluva punch for a beanpole your age."

And that is actually more than an encouragement. Sam is honestly surprised to see and feel now first-hand how much force is hidden within in that skinny boy who looks like he can't hurt a fly. Of course Sam saw how he took down the Pusher in the ring, but that was only from the corner of the eye – and from his perspective it seemed as though Marty had simply chosen a great momentum to throw the Pusher off his feet. Yet, those punches now made Sam realize that Marty has the physical strength to match.

"Who taught you that?" Sam asks.

"No one," Marty shakes his head. In the streets, he rarely met anyone who was willing to teach – because knowledge is the only good they have out there. The knowledge of where the good hideouts are or where you get food, how to use a knife, how a gun. Those are all things that you have to guard, keep close to your heart, right in it. As much as it is against Marty's nature, he learned the very hard way that one mustn't give away everything. Because you can actually have less than nothing.

"But you did that before," Sam grimaces.

"Sure," Marty shrugs. "Though I tried not to, we had to defend ourselves in the streets. Sadly... even grown men don't stop short before children. I learned that lesson long ago. And once you're aware of that... you just do anything to make sure they stay away from you. But I rather... run. _That_ has always been the last resort. At least I want it to stay that way."

"Because you don't want to lose control," Sam nods.

"Yeah," Marty admits.

"Well, that is something the training can help you with, honestly," Sam tells him. Marty makes a face. Nate probably told Sam to say just that to convince him.

"Look, I've always been a... tough guy. At least I had a lot of physical strength since early years," Sam says in a quieter voice. "And for a time, I didn't know what to do with it. I had no control over it and that's why I feared I'd lose it in a situation also."

"Seriously?" Marty blinks at him. If Nate gave him instructions, they were damn good.

"Yeah, but then I joined the Navy, and that's when it all changed for me," Sam tells him. "They gave me the means to control myself. Though at first I wasn't too sure about that."

"Why?" Marty frowns. If Sam wanted control, then why would he be against it?

"Because I, personally, feared that I'd lose something. I thought I'd have less strength if I were under control," Sam explains.

"... tiger in the cage," Marty mumbles.

"Right. So I wasn't too happy, especially when I got confronted with fighting techniques such as karate, which promised the exact opposite of what I was good at, brute force. However, as I learned the techniques, I realized that they made me stronger," Sam says.

"In how far?" the teenager grimaces.

"Well, to put it simple, I was then I the position to punch someone once – and knock him out. Before, I had to get into a real brawl with him. I was in more danger, and that guy, in the end, too," the older man says. Marty blinks at him, "But it's different for me. I mean... I'm no _machine_ like you probably were."

"Then ever the better to learn to punch once, but right," Sam argues. "And you got talent, that much is for certain."

"I just... I don't know," Marty exhales. If only he could put it into words, but those emotions are so raw, so naked that Marty doesn't know how to express them, which is why he is even more scared of them. If even words can't grasp them, put a leash on them, then how should he control them otherwise?

"Well, we will have to find out what works for you. What would you think is your fighting style?" Sam questions.

"Desperation?" Marty grimaces.

"C'mon, now seriously," Sam rolls his eyes.

"I am serious, I fight because I'm desperate," Marty replies with more honesty this time, "Otherwise I try to run from it."

"That simply means that you're rather passive at first. That is good. That is controlled. So maybe we should focus on training that you can escape a dangerous situation before we move to something else?" the older man suggests.

"I don't think that this is something we have to train much, actually," Marty knits an eyebrow at Sam, to which he can't help but frown, "Why not?"

"I suck in other aspects, but I'm actually quite good sneaking away," Marty shrugs.

"Then try me," Sam smirks.

"What now?" the teenager grimaces, so Sam explains, "You pick a situation. I'm the attacker, you escape me."

"... I was just making fun of you," Marty replies hastily.

"Kid, I will remind you again of what you did in my house. I bet that involved some smart escaping-skills," Sam argues. "So... you rightly meant it."

"You won't let this go, will you?" Marty narrows his eyes at him.

"No," Sam grins, to which the teenager sighs, "Forget that I ever asked."

"So, gimme a situation you can practice to escape from," Sam nods.

"Okay, I'd say... you corner me," Marty grimaces, looking around, "But... without the gloves."

Sam nods his agreement as he helps Marty out of his mitts. They go to one of the corners of the gym. Sam keeps a safe distance at first. Nate and Callen gave him instructions about what to pay attention to – so that he doesn't scare Marty, though Sam has to smirk at the memory. After all, G acted just like he did when his partner was supposed to take care of Marty while he was in hospital. That he didn't have a written list for him was everything.

"Okay, so how would you escape that situation?" Sam asks calmly. Marty paces a bit in the corner.

"You know, in an actual situation you don't have that much time, right?" Sam smirks, but that is when Marty already runs ahead and slides through his parted legs, gets back up behind him and runs a bit to the opposite corner. Sam turns around, nodding his head with half a grimace and half a smirk, "I see what you mean, you are sneaky. But I didn't move either. Question is how you do when your opponent moves – and tries to hinder you from that."

"Is that your way of telling me to do it again?" Marty asks.

"Get into position," Sam smirks. Marty jogs back into the corner. Sam turns back around also and steps closer, this time taking a fighting stance. "Remember. I'll try to hinder you this time."

Marty nods before he ducks to his right. Sam intercepts him. Marty quickly puts his weight on his other foot to maneuver to the other side, but Sam grabs him by the arm, "You won't escape like that."

Marty then simply lets himself fall to the ground, pulling Sam's arm down along with him, using it like a swing. Sam is surprised for a second, but then simply pulls Marty back up, "You'll have to fight me."

Marty twists around another time while also snaking his lower leg around Sam's. The older man's knee gives way because of the weight pulling him down – and that is when he gets Marty's idea. The teen throws him off-balance and pulls him towards the wall – for someone who wouldn't expect that, which could be estimated from anyone who doesn't know the kid, this would make him end up with his forehead smashing against the wall, possibly knocking him out. And that would mean Marty would have a good chance to escape. However, before Sam can make any attempt to move away, Marty simply allows himself to plop to the ground with a thud – laughing out loud, holding his stomach. Sam straightens back up, scratching the back of his head, "What's so funny now?"

Marty just shrugs, laughing harder. Deep down, he knows why he laughs so hard – because of Nate, because of Sam, and because of Callen for plainly being right. He was so afraid of doing this, so scared that this would escalate and throw him back to the dark corners of pure aggression and fear. However, here he lies on the ground and it's simply... fun. He is safe in the gym. No one who wants to hurt him or take him away. And even if visualizing helps him to actually gather the courage and strength to let the "beast" out, Marty starts to feel... safer.

"Again?" Sam smirks, holding out his hand to Marty. The teenager giggles a few more times before he takes Sam's hand. The older man pulls him up.

"Sure," Marty smirks, getting into position.

Maybe fighting is not always about survival.

Or desperation.

Maybe it's actually... fun?

Marty dares to find out.


	31. Twinkies & Tears

Author's Note: Thank you so, so, so, so, so much for the feedback! I can't even tell you how much I appreciate it! You keep motivating me – and help me to crawl my way out of the hole of "writer's block". It's going up again, I guess, I hope, _maybe..._

For my French Reviewer ;) (again, awful French ahead): Je ne sais pas que c'est un personne parce que le seule chose que je vois est "Guest" - et alors, c'est possible ce qu'il plusieurs personnes. Excuse moi, et merci beaucoup á toi, par suite.^^

Anyway, as for this chapter... I give the warning that the dates/ timeline may be a bit inadequate, but I had to make it fitting to my story. As far as I know, this wasn't specified on the show, though, so it's not _that_ impossible. Though I hope you forgive me in case that really ticks you off^^

As always, reviews are welcome and very much appreciated.  
Read, review, and hopefully enjoy ;)

* * *

Sam, Callen and Marty are sitting in the bullpen. The agents are occupied with paperwork, while the teenager is busy with his _bookwork,_ which is a version of the _Canterbury Tales_. Even that grew to be more than a habit or routine, it's part of their life now, to sit together, work together, enjoy the silence of the day together. However, today is a rather special day after all, which is why either one steals glances at the entrance to the bullpen with a crooked smirk. As if on cue, that is when Kensi enters, blowing air upwards to make a few loose strands of her thick dark hair fall out of her face, "Morning, everyone."

Her voice is tougher than usual – and the smile she rewards them with doesn't reach up to her eyes.

"Good morning," the three say in unison as Kensi takes off her shoulder bag and tosses it effortlessly on the tabletop's corner.

"Okay, just to be straight with you, if you, by any chance, did some surprise_-something,_ I will kill you, with a spoon. I gave you that as a fair warning before," she says, her voice surprisingly calm for the harsh words.

"No surprise_-something,"_ Sam smirks, "but still a present."

"Ugh, how often do I have to tell you that...," Kensi grunts, but Sam interrupts, "My girls made that card for you. And I will get them on the phone to sing the happy-b-day-song if you don't take the present, behave yourself and say thank you."

Kensi glances at the two presents on the table, one with a glittery card with unicorns on it. Her facial expression softens at that. Kensi lets out a sigh, "You're right. I'm sorry. Thanks."

"Open it," Sam winks at her. Kensi nods before she unwraps Sam's present – an ankle holster.

"Thanks," she smiles at him.

"We kept it in mind this time – only stuff that's actually usable," he smirks at her.

"Really, thanks," she nods another time, meaning it. She then grabs the other present, which turns out to be a throwing knife.

"Aw, thanks for that," Kensi smiles.

"You only get them under the condition that you don't throw them at either one of us," Callen jokes.

"I guess I can live with that," she shrugs. "So really, thanks, guys."

"You're very welcome," Sam winks at her.

"So? What are your plans for the day?" Callen asks casually as Kensi sits down.

"What I do every year – nothing. Safe for watching some TV, downing some beers, and good old Chinese takeaway," Kensi shrugs.

"So traditional," Callen chuckles.

"It's my tradition, so yeah," she nods absently as she opens one of her drawers to stash the knife and the holster in it, only to be met by a beautifully executed origami butterfly.

"Aww, that's so sweet," she can't help but smile as she takes the paper figure out to inspect it. "That's one of the reasons why you're my favorite, Marty."

"What makes you so certain it's his? I could have folded it also?" Sam snickers.

"Because Marty always puts an M somewhere on his origami figure, which happens to be right here," she points at the butterfly's wing.

"Why do you sign them?" Sam frowns at Marty, who shrugs, "Has no certain reason. I just like my initial M, coz you can turn it upside down and then it looks like a W."

"What?!" Sam makes a face. He's heard weird explanations, but Marty puts a new level to it at times. Who seriously thinks of that?! But then again, that boy also imagines gremlins in the drain, so who is Sam kidding?

"So, thanks for that," Kensi winks at the teenager, offering a sweet smile. It might be that she hates this day, but she can still appreciate the gesture. And Kensi wouldn't ever degrade this in front of Marty. She loves him and the guys too much to do that. It's not their fault after all. It's no one's fault. It shouldn't be. Isn't. Ugh, forget it.

The day carries on in the usual routine, safe for Hetty giving Kensi a present also, and Eric and Nell – against better judgment, still humming _Happy Birthday_ as they give her their presents. They work a standard case. Gladly, everything goes according to plan – and Kensi gets to tackle one of the bad guys down, which helps her otherwise bad mood drastically. And even more gladly, Hetty doesn't push them into extra-paperwork today, which is why Kensi soon finds herself at home, finally within the safety zone of her apartment, where no one will bother her about birthdays. That is the fine thing about having your own place – you can shut the door, and leave not only whoever out that door, but also whatever. Including birthdays or the thoughts that try to crawl their way back in on this certain occasion. Kensi decides against Chinese and orders a pizza instead. Once the call is made, she makes her way into the bedroom to change into a more comfortable wear. Before she does so, Kensi puts the presents away carefully, flashing a faint smirk at the objects that are tied with affection. It might be that she doesn't enjoy this time of the year, but Kensi surely enjoys that the others still make the effort. She is honestly glad to have such people around her. If not for the team, she may be in a much worse shape, she knows. They saved her. Even if that means they don't spare her birthday troubles at times. Yet, they do it in such a sweet way that Kensi couldn't be mad at them for longer than five seconds. However, before she can go on with her musing, the doorbell rings. Kensi grimaces. She only ordered the pizza some ten minutes ago. Usually, it takes at least twenty minutes. And it's not like she expects any visitors. Almost no one knows where she lives – and Kensi wants things to stay that way. The female agent hurries to the door and turns the doorknob. She frowns as she opens the door, "You're not the pizza boy."

"No," Callen, apparently, smirks at her.

"... if you don't have the pizza, what do you want here?" she grimaces.

"Well, I'm still a delivery boy, just not for the pizza," Callen shrugs.

"You are confusing me," Kensi blinks at him incredulously.

"Well, you forgot a present over at the NCIS, so I'm so kind to bring it by," Callen shrugs before he moves a little aside to reveal Marty standing a little further down on the steps.

"You give me your brother, now that's not very kind of you, Callen," she jokes. "Though I will take him if you don't want him."

"No, he's only borrowed till morrow," Callen winks at the teenager. Kensi narrows her eyes at the team leader, but then her eyes fall back on the teenager, who waggles two bags at her, one which obviously contains dozens of DVDs, the other with all her favorite goodies.

"We're having a movie night," Marty flashes his signature smile at her.

"Ah, is that so?" she cocks an eyebrow at him, but then laughs, "You're too cute to be true. Okay, how about you set everything up already?"

Marty nods before he walks past her. He spent more than a few evenings over at her place already, so he knows exactly where everything is set anyway. As the teenager likes to remark, he is already home in every team member's home. And that couldn't be truer. Marty feels home not only with those people, but also in their places – something that is still new to a boy who didn't have a steady place in years and who was honestly freaked at the prospect of being surrounded by walls to hold him. However, now he knows that those walls also protect him. That they all mean home, no matter the color, wallpaper, decor, or pictures hung up.

Kensi folds her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes at Callen, "Did you plan this?"

"Nope, that was solely Marty's idea. He saw how down you were lately. You know how he is," Callen shrugs. "He can't stand to see his DVD buddy down."

"Sometimes I ask myself how it's possible you're related. He is so cute... in contrast to you," Kensi huffs playfully.

"What? I'm adorable," Callen chuckles.

"You wish," Kensi smirks. "But you have your moments."

"So is that okay for you? He was just very... persistent," Callen asks in a softer voice. He was honestly surprised when his brother came up to him the other day, nervously dancing from one leg to the other to ask him to take him to the movie rental and the shopping mall. Callen knows that Marty still struggles asking for favors sometimes, but this was simply, well, _cute._ There is no way to describe it differently. Marty almost blushed when he explained his plan to cheer Kensi up again – because he can't stand to see her sad, and... _just 'cause_, to quote him. And so, the older brother had of course agreed and helped with all preparations Marty had in mind.

"Of course it's okay. Hell, maybe that will make it a better birthday after all," she shrugs. "With my DVD buddy, what could possibly go wrong, huh?"

"Well, Marty has everything with him, so if you're fine with it and he doesn't want to come home, he'd crash over at your place?" Callen asks.

"If we do a movie marathon, we won't be done before next morning anyways, so that's perfectly fine with me," Kensi nods.

"Good, okay. If there is something, you just call me, I come pick him up," Callen assures her.

"I can also bring him," Kensi argues.

"It's your birthday still. That means no extra-load... other than my brother. Just call if something's up, alright?" Callen insists.

"Fine, fine, you'll get him back in the morning, _maybe,"_ she sticks out her tongue.

"He's _just_ borrowed," he reminds her.

"We'll see about that," she winks at him.

"Okay, then have fun, you two," Callen waves as he heads back to his car. Kensi waves after him as he drives off before she goes back inside, just to find Marty perfectly prepped up. He arranged all goodies on the coffee table, the one he quickly cleaned up, of course, DVD is ready to play, he set a beer and a ginger ale on the table also, and is already seated on the couch, remote in hand. Kensi chuckles as she sits down next to him, "I see you already made yourself comfortable?"

"Yep," Marty shrugs.

"Hm," she nods to herself, "I see you planned this in advance?"

"If you want things to pan out, you have to," Marty shrugs. "You okay with a horror movie for starters? This one must be hilarious. The zombies make the totally typical stiff arm routine."

He mimics a zombie, growling something incoherent in a low voice, arms outstretched in front of him, wobbling from right to left in his seat.

"Sure, I love those. So, bring it on," she snickers, leaning back. And so the two dig their way through Twinkies, pizza, and a huge variety of movies, ranging all the way from horror movies, to romantic comedies, action films, and the ever so entertaining splatter movies. The two just always crack up laughing watching those.

"I have to say, you know how to throw a party, my dear friend," Kensi smiles as she comes back with a two ginger ales this time.

"That's no party," Marty shakes his head. "We're just two people."

"And it only takes two people to have a party," she corrects him as she sits back down.

"Well, glad that you see it that way. I already feared I'd make a total fool of myself," Marty bites his lower lip. He was honestly freaked. Marty never did something like that before. So this is completely new terrain to him, but, the way he sees it, friends are worth testing even such waters.

"Oh, definitely not," she assures him quickly.

"Speaking of... well, not really, but I miss the transition here, so I just make one," Marty suddenly says, getting up from his seat instantly. Kensi frowns, her eyes following the teenager as he goes over to his bag.

"Do I get more Twinkies?" she grimaces, but that is when he pulls out an olive-green gift bag with a simple golden bow on the upper right corner.

"I still have some, but they don't come in a gift bag," Marty shakes his head as he hops back on the couch.

"But you already gave me a present this morning... and the movie night," she frowns.

"C'mon, a piece of paper, Twinkies, and some rented DVDs? Those are no presents," Marty argues.

"I found it very, very, _very_ sweet of you," Kensi replies. Marty shrugs as he holds the bag out to her. Kensi takes it hesitantly, peeking inside. The female agent blinks as she grabs inside to take out, "Boots."

Kensi tilts her head at the sight of the wonderful black army-style boots, "Well, you know that women would kill for shoes, and I'm no different."

"Well, I asked Nell for advice. I don't know too much about fashion," Marty shrugs. And really, if not for the analyst, Marty would have been at a total loss. He doesn't care about clothes, still. And he cares even less about women's fashion, to be perfectly honest. So when Marty asked Nell and she gladly offered to help him pick a fitting pair of boots, the teenager once again realized how much luck he has. That he can just ask one of the guys to go shopping for birthday presents, though all are busy with their own lives. However, somehow, they make space for him. And Marty couldn't be happier to finally have so much space in other people's lives.

"Do you like them?" he asks hesitantly.

"Oh, they are awesome," she smiles at him sweetly, but then narrows her eyes, "But now wait."

Marty looks at her expectantly.

"Are those... you didn't, did you?" she looks at him, then at the boots, then at Marty again. However, the teenager just stays silent. Kensi takes the right boot and knocks the heel on the table – and a knife pops out of the front. The female agent looks almost like a child all of a sudden, "Oh my God! You made me a pair of super-boots!"

"Well, these were far easier to make because G was so nice to help me get the material and everything," Marty shrugs. Not to mention how much easier it was to do that in bright daylight, with actual tools, and not just some wire he snatched and bent in such a way that it would fit his purposes. And this time... it was real fun to make them. When Marty did the adaptations to his boots, it always felt more like an act of desperation, a last resort of safety to hold on to when his feet no longer carried him the right direction. However, making Kensi's made him... happy? Because he knew how much she liked the idea. And because she is a little ninja assassin, of course. And judging by her facial expression at this moment, Marty wasn't entirely wrong with the idea.

"That is about the most awesome present someone's ever given to me, like seriously," she shakes her head, still not quite believing it. "Is it okay if I hug you?"

Marty shrugs, "Sure."

Kensi goes ahead to give the teenager a hug, trying to keep it together after that boy just gives her the most twisted emotional roller-coaster today, as it seems. When Kensi woke up this morning, she thought it would be hell warmed-over, then it was okay because the team was just sweet to her, and now here she sits and isn't sure whether to cry, scream, laugh, or run around like she did as a little girl and her father promised to take her on a trip for the weekend.

"You, my friend, surely know how to surprise someone,_"_ she shakes her head as she pulls away, offering a warm smile.

"So you like it?" he blinks at her.

"No," she shakes her head, "I _love_ it."

"Then I'm glad," he smiles at her happily before he grabs more popcorn and pops it into his mouth. Kensi slips on the boots before she settles back down, putting her feet on the table to glance at her new fancy equipment, "Might be I never take these off again."

"They are yours. You do with them whatever you want," Marty shrugs. Something both truly enjoy about spending time together is how easily both calm down. That is something Marty can otherwise only share with G in that way. However, with Kensi it's just the same. Once they start watching TV together, there is just this movie. He is calm, she is calm. No words needed. And not once has it been "awkward" for him to be around her, and that was something Marty was honestly afraid of at first. Because he didn't want it to be awkward, though it often ended up to be so. It's more than simply complimenting each other in some way. When they have their movie nights... they just get time to breathe.

Both enjoy the humming of the movie for a while, but then Marty turns to Kensi to look at her.

"Kensi?" Marty blinks at her with his baby blue eyes. Really, once he starts dating, the girls will be all over him, that is something Kensi is already sure of.

"What?" she smiles softly.

"Why do you hate celebrating birthdays?" he asks, his voice no more than a whisper. She grimaces as she studies his face. Kensi usually doesn't like to dig into that topic because people give her that weird look she can't really describe with words. It's not judgmental, but a faint scrunch of the nose that this is not _proper_ in some way. Or they are so over-boiling with false concern that this poor woman can't celebrate her birthday for some reason that it makes Kensi nothing but sick. However, Marty's eyes are filled with nothing but curiosity, with a hint of concern of course, but without judgment and for some reason Kensi knows that if she were to tell him that she doesn't want to talk about it, Marty would plainly accept that. And that's not just reassuring. It's calming. Soothing. And it's nice for a change to feel as though it's okay to talk about it, while at the same time it seems perfectly fine not to talk about it either.

"I don't hate celebrating birthdays in general," Kensi smirks. "So as a fair warning, if you dare not to invite me to your birthday party, I will be totally mad at you and won't talk to you for a week."

"Noted," Marty nods, but then adds with a grimace, "Though I'm not too sure about that myself, with the whole celebration."

"Oh, trust me. You won't get around the hugest of birthday parties. Callen is very... _devoted,"_ Kensi snickers. She can already see it: Balloons, heaps of presents, a car, a helicopter, an elephant... well, maybe not, but Kensi is absolutely sure that if Marty told G that he'd like to have any of this on his birthday party, G Callen would move Heaven and Earth to make this happen. And that is something she most certainly wouldn't have said a few months back, let alone think.

"Ugh, don't remind me," Marty snorts. "If he comes with a clown, I'll run for dear life."

"Hm, he might hire one, but that would be just to piss Sam off, he's afraid of clowns," Kensi argues.

"And I honestly get that. They are creepy," Marty shudders.

"They just do their job, I guess," Kensi shrugs. Though she has to admit to herself that she is not too fond of them either. The colors give her eye sores.

"So, since it's my birthday, I actually get to ask first," Kensi then declares. "Why don't _you_ like to celebrate your birthday?"

"I honestly don't know if I will like it. It's just that... ugh... I didn't celebrate since... _ever,"_ Marty admits. "So I'm not too sure if I can... still do it? I know this sounds weird, but... I'm just not really used to it anymore."

That is no secret out of the Pandora Box to him. It's pretty obvious in Marty's opinion. In the streets no one bothered, and the teenager didn't bother either, and before that... just no. So, obviously, those are all unknown waters to him - and at some point Marty is not sure what will come out of these waters if he dares to come closer.

Kensi tilts her head at him, purposely keeping her face a straight line, "I guess that is something you can't really unlearn, though."

"Yeah, no, I also know how a birthday party works. I know it's all about smiley faces and having a good time, but... what gets me concerned is that it might turn out like a farce – and that it's just forced smiles, Marty grimaces, before he repeats more silently, "I hate forced smiles."

"Yeah, I get that," Kensi nods knowingly.

"So I don't know if I can actually... genuinely do it anymore," Marty admits.

"Well, you are now in the position that you can say who comes to your birthday and who does not," Kensi offers, to which Marty nods. He takes a moment before he speaks up again.

"And there was a certain time in my life... when in the ring, for instance... that I questioned that kind of celebration altogether. I mean... if you curse your life, then why would you celebrate the day you were born, huh?" Marty says, now more solemnly. Kensi bites her lower lip. However, before she can say something to offer him assurance or soothing, Marty's face lights back up on its own and he adds, "But I'm no longer there, so maybe I'll like it, huh?"

"I bet your brother will try absolutely anything to make that happen," Kensi nods, glad that Marty didn't just fall into a bad mood. It might be that he came here to cheer her back up, as her friend, but she also doesn't want him to feel bad – by opening up to her too much. Marty doesn't deserve more wounds. And Kensi surely doesn't want to be the cause of a single one.

"I guess, I mean... now I have something to celebrate," Marty shrugs. There was a time in his life when he really didn't want to go on anymore. When Marty thought that he was cursed. That life couldn't get any worse. And that he just didn't have the power to go on anymore, though somehow he still did. As though even his life-force was just trying to mess with him also, taunting him that even his end was not up for him to decide on – and that made Marty honestly feel nothing but helpless. That even death was something he couldn't choose. And only made him curse the day he was brought into being ever the more. And those feelings crept their way into his head more often than he'd like to admit to himself, and way too often to admit to anyone else. However, now he has a life that Marty considers worth appreciation, and therefore celebration also. And if anything good came out of this pure feeling of dread and helplessness, then Marty starts to regard it as a necessary evil, at least he does so now.

"We'll see... and I guess Nate will give G a lecture anyways. I will just say that I will be totally traumatized if he comes with a clown, or God forbid, a bounce house," the teenager smirks.

"Oh, I totally dug those as a kid," Kensi snickers. "I did badass ninja stunts in them and knocked out other kids. That always got me into trouble, but was well worth it."

"Always knew that Kensi Blye was a born little ninja assassin," Marty grins. "Okay, so now _you_ have to spill, right?"

"I guess so," she shrugs. "Well, honestly, it's not like it is with you and your... trauma, or whatever. I liked celebrating my birthday for a long while, but then... a few things happened that, well... made it sour?"

"What happened?" Marty asks.

"Many things. But only the last one really ticked me off," Kensi exhales. "Well, I don't know how much your brother has told you yet, but I used to be engaged a few years back. He was a soldier and, well... Jack, he went to Iraq and..."

"... came back changed?" Marty provides at her hesitance.

"Yeah," she nods. "PTSD."

"Have been all over it," Marty nods, flashing a faint smirk at her. Kensi replies gladly – that keeps the mood a little lighter.

"I didn't even recognize him anymore. I mean, he looked the same, but... something was just... different. Not there. Or maybe there, but in a different place, I don't know. The only thing I know is that he wasn't the same man anymore," she exhales as the images creep their way back to her mind. Marty simply looks at her, not saying anything, just listening. Taking in. Seeing.

"Well, I tried anything I could to make him feel better .again We've had it all. Therapy of all kinds. I helped him with the meds. But... no chance. He just shut down, you know?" Kensi exhales. She shakes her head. And _God,_ had she tried. She had begged him. That she didn't kneel in front of him was everything... though Kensi isn't even sure anymore if she didn't actually kneel. At some point, this time is such a blur. Obscure colors and shapes, raw emotions. Screams and pill bottles. Tears and hopeless love. Loneliness in being together. Being together in being lonely. Distance in tight embraces. Silence. And then screams again. Kensi would have done anything to get her fiancé back, but he just didn't come back. A part of Jack was seemingly left in the dust of Iraq's deserts and then covered in the dust of a thousand sand storms so this part may never be found again.

"The worst part was that I really couldn't help him, at all. Whatever I tried... it just didn't work. I couldn't break through to him. I just felt so helpless in being... not helpful," she admits, perhaps more to herself than to Marty. This is one of the first times she actually said it out loud. Kensi normally doesn't like to let weakness show, or share stories that lead too far into a past she tried to maybe not forget about, but draw the line under and move on.

"I'm sorry," Marty whispers. To her surprise, he doesn't look away, though, but still keeps up this intense eye contact that forces Kensi to go on.

"Well, and then... he just... he disappeared," she says weakly. "Didn't see him since. I don't know where he is... or even _if_ he is."

"... and that happened on your birthday?" Marty grimaces. Because then he surely understands why Kensi doesn't want to celebrate that certain day.

"No, it happened around the time, but not on that date," she replies. "Well, obviously, I was down after that. For a long time."

"Of course," Marty nods. Who wouldn't be?

"But I got better again... well, and then came NCIS... and the team... That's when I really started to see the bright side of life again," she shrugs. "Even if they gave me hell at first..."

"Yeah, G's _proudly_ told me about that," Marty smirks at her.

"Well, the thing was that Sam and your brother had worked together before I joined. And even if they made any effort to integrate me, it was still... Sam and Callen as partners and me... as Robin?" she shrugs.

"Hey, Robin's cool. And he became the Nightwing later," Marty argues.

"True again, but I think you get the idea. Who wants to be a sidekick, huh?" Kensi smirks.

"No one, until they realize how awesome it is," Marty agrees.

"Exactly. Well, we worked like that for a while... and honestly, it wasn't great jolly from the start. I know that I played a great part in this, well, obviously I did. After all, it revolved around me. I just took some time to open up to them, to...," she grimaces, struggling for the words, but then Marty completes, "Let go."

"Yeah," Kensi nods. "Well, we worked it over time. The closer we grew as a team, the closer we grew personally also, I guess."

She closes her eyes for a moment before she carries on, "Well, but that didn't change the circumstance that we were still a trio, or... a duo plus one, at least on the professional side."

"Sure," Marty nods. Even if he sees how well they work together, it surely must have been hard for them to get to this level of understanding and harmony. That doesn't grow overnight.

"But then I was assigned a partner, Dom," Kensi goes on, the smile fading from her face. Marty grimaces. G talked about an agent named Dom with Sam the other day. And even if neither one explained it to the teenager, Marty could take from the tone that this was something both felt hurt at mentioning. So this won't be a pretty story, that much is for sure.

"He was a great guy. He was more into computers than I was. So we complimented each other nicely," she sighs, the memories flooding back once again.

"He died, didn't he?" Marty grimaces.

"Yes, but how would you tell? Did Callen say so?" Kensi grimaces.

"No, it's just that whenever this name is mentioned, by either G, Sam or you, you use past tense, and you look sad," Marty shrugs.

"He may have left for a different department also," Kensi argues with a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

"Nah, it would sound differently," Marty shakes his head.

"We would be sad either way," Kensi replies playfully.

"But sad isn't _sad._ There are... variations," Marty argues. Kensi pats him on the head, "You're so G Callen's brother."

Marty shrugs off her hands, ruffling through his hair to bring it back into order, or rather mess. Kensi snickers as she leans back again. Marty copies her movement. Both stay silent for a while.

"Well, so he died, yes. But before he died... he disappeared. We didn't even realize he was gone until... it was too late. He was in the hands of some real bad guys. It was awful. We almost had him, but then... he sacrificed himself, to save Sam," Kensi goes on to explain.

"Oh," Marty brings out. That... explains it. No words needed.

"Well, and short time after, I actually had my birthday... and... the team actually threw that tiny party with a cake, nothing big or anything, but... I just... I just started crying and... I had a total breakdown."

"Wow," Marty sighs silently.

"Well, and that kinda destroyed it for me, the whole... birthday thing. I just couldn't bring myself to celebrate anymore. I mean, I was never a fan once I grew older, but... that... birthday... it changed everything for me. I just didn't know how I could celebrate the day I was born, celebrate that I'm alive, when we only buried Dom a few days back. And to me, it felt like we just lowered down his coffin when...," she stops, biting her lower lip. "It just felt so wrong."

She shakes her head, her dark hair falling over her face, "With Dom... it wasn't just that I lost a partner. I lost a friend. And... that just... that just broke something inside of me. After that, I was a ghost, pretty much. I just walked around and... I guess I was just like I was when I joined the team. Cold and... reserved. I just didn't know what to do, think... feel. And Dom's death just brought up all those memories of Jack's disappearance, because it felt like Dom also... just disappeared. That just seemingly anyone I cared for... just vanished, this way or another... why am I telling you this again?!"

She surely shouldn't have such conversation with a traumatized teenager, now should she? However, before Kensi gets a chance to take it back, crack a joke, Marty speaks up, "Because I listen?"

"You're a teenager who's got enough on mind. You're supposed to listen to naughty jokes and crappy music, not what I bred out inside my brain during my downtimes," she shakes her head.

"But I listen," Marty argues simply.

"Why?" she grimaces. Seriously, why would he listen – or rather, _want_ to listen?

"Because people aren't just a nice bouquet of good things. I mean, I guess it's obvious that I'm a total harmony-needy boy. I hate it when people around me are unhappy, but I learned by now that no one walks the face of earth unscathed. We all come with a package of problems. But it's those problems that make us... _us._ At least I want to believe in that. Nate and G always tell me that I'm a fighter and all. And... if so, I think I am because of the ring and all those other things. I have this strength because I had to get it to pull through this awful time. If only the good things defined me... I guess I wouldn't even have been a real person back in the streets. Because trust me, there wasn't much good to define me. We aren't just the result of happy memories. We're the product of what we make of the unity of all memories, good or bad... or neither," Marty tells her. The female agent stares at the boy for a few seconds, simply overtaken by what he just said... and how.

"... one helluva psychologist you have there," she jokes.

"Nate has his bright moments, when he doesn't talk about dream interpretation," Marty snickers. And actually, it didn't hurt to admit that. To say that. Because Marty can still breathe.

"You, my friend, are a curious case," she sighs.

"I take that as a compliment," he shrugs.

"Honestly, I think you're the first one I've been this open to... about this," she admits after a while. "I mean, Callen and the others know that I had that breakdown on my birthday because they were there, but... well... who wants the rest to know that you feel lonely, huh?" she exhales.

"No one wants to admit that, because no one wants to be... lonely," Marty agrees. "Coz no one wants to be alone."

"Well, and that's just what I felt like after both Jack's departure, and Dom's death. I just felt... alone. Not because the others didn't care, _obviously_ not, but... I didn't know how to express it. I always had a problem making myself clear when it came to such things. I want to act tough, but...," she bites her lower lip.

"At some point, one just can't," Marty nods. He still learns this lesson. Swallowing it up swallows you after some time. However, the thing is that swallowing is a reflex. And a reflex is something you can't control. So Marty, as well as Kensi, seemingly, often end up swallowing it up. Because they didn't gain control yet.

"You have to stop saying the right things all the while," she chuckles, but her airways constrict suddenly as a lone tear travels down her cheek. Kensi hastily wipes it away with her thumb, offering a smile to Marty – so that he doesn't feel bad for her.

"Sorry, now I go all emotional on you here. Though you come here to cheer me up," she shakes her head as another tear springs to her other eye. "Crap."

"You know what I always have to do when I'm having bad thoughts?" Marty suddenly says. Kensi stares at him with teary eyes, "What?"

"When I have a bad thought or so, I'm supposed to write ten good ones," Marty says, looking her right in the eyes, the blue flickering with such strength, such intensity that it makes her skin prickle.

"Yeah, I remember that," Kensi nods.

"... that helps," he says silently, allowing his eyes to drift to the ceiling.

"Well, there is the team...," Kensi says after a while, also looking at the ceiling, as though the ideas would just drop down on her if she just glanced long enough, like overripe fruit that just waits to be caught.

"And Titanic," she goes on. "and cronuts."

Marty smirks silently, but doesn't look at her, but glances at the ceiling, still.

"And comic books," Kensi adds. And that is when she realizes that no new tears threaten to come. Her breath evens out...

"And my most awesome DVD buddy...," she smiles, nudging him in the shoulder playfully.

"And throwing knives," she snickers softly. "This... really works."

"Told you," Marty shrugs.

"Oh," she says, sitting up again. "And of course there are Twinkies and yet another romantic comedy that's so perfectly predictable that it hurts... and still a movie marathon ahead of us."

She eases back down, tossing one of the Twinkies at Marty. The teenager snickers as he starts the next movie.

"Happy birthday, Kensi," he says after a while, his eyes fixed on the screen.

"Best birthday ever," she smiles, her eyes also focusing on the screen.

Tears and Twinkies.

How couldn't this be the best birthday ever?


	32. Back to School, Back Home

Author's Note: Hello, my dearest readership! Thanks for reading and reviewing, to the day I didn't expect to receive such positive feedback for this story. Once again, sorry that the update took longer than I had estimated. I just didn't find the time, or rather the words.

As for this chapter, it's supposed to address a topic that was brought up in your reviews couple of times – and I think it's now time to get to it.

As a warning, Callen might seem a bit OOC-ish in the beginning, but I need a kind of pivot to push this chapter to where I want it to be. I know I could've worked it differently, but... artistic license. So, bear with me, please! ^^

Anyway, I hope the chapter's still worth the wait.

Read, review, and hopefully enjoy ;)

* * *

G and Marty make their way into the NCIS building. Gladly, normalcy came back to them after all the trouble that intruded their little haven over the last couple of weeks. Nate is on yet another assignment abroad for about two and a half weeks now – and nothing much has happened since. Given the circumstances, it's really great. Some _level-five_ nightmares were the worst – and they definitely had worse before, so this is drastic improvement. Callen observes with pride and hope how greatly Marty has changed since he got to stay with him. His personality is still the same, and for that Callen is glad, but he can still remember how hostile the teenager was at first. How he couldn't trust anyone or anything – because the world had proven him right in not doing that. Now, Marty's self-confidence grows with every day passing. He is smiling almost all day long. He trusts people. Talks more and more. He seems... _happy._ And that is why G is also happy. Marty's philosophy in life really rubs off on him.

"Hey G, hey Marty," Sam, who is of course the one who came in first, greets the two as they walk into the bullpen.

"Hey," both reply simultaneously. Callen settles down in his chair, flopping his backpack down beside the table as he speaks to Marty, "Okay, I got some work to do. You got yourself occupied?"

The teenager holds up his _Gulliver's Travels_ – and as he underlined the day he got it from Hetty, it's one with the original version, with all the offensive things still in there, which Marty seems to take a liking to, so Callen figures.

"Alright," Callen winks at him. Marty nods and heads out to the lounge without losing another word. Sam shoots the other man a glance – a glance Callen noticed in a few days now, but chose not to comment on, but today he feels like it, so he simply breaks out, "What?"

"Nothing, nothing...," Sam grimaces, focusing on his screen again, but G is having none of it, "Sam, what's the deal?"

"Well... do you know what time of the year it is?" his partner grimaces.

"We're way past Kensi's birthday," Callen frowns.

"No, I mean... well, I didn't say anything because Marty has his issues, and then you were stabbed, but... I mean, it's this time of the year, still, and he's fifteen...," his voice trails off.

"What?" Callen blinks at him. Just what is Sam trying to tell him?

"Okay, I tried to do it the subtle way, but fine, have it directly: Holidays are almost over. The new school year starts," Sam says. He glances over at Callen, but the man is too busy gaping at him.

"I... I... oh...," G stammers helplessly. One of the downsides of this new situation is that G actually has those moments more often when he is absolutely caught off guard – or realizes he missed something. And Callen hates it to miss something because that means that he made a kind of mistake. And G, to the day, is a perfectionist.

"I mean, if you wanna get him enrolled...," Sam shrugs.

"... I totally forgot about that," Callen admits almost sheepishly, before he goes on cursing to himself, "Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit!"

Sam has to hide a smile. Ever since Callen took Marty in, the man is perfectly changed. Normally, G would've been reserved, calm, would have had a year's plan ready to go and that would've been it. But now his partner is an overly anxious parent, the type who's normally just having his first baby and is completely overwhelmed with everything – and fusses about not getting everything perfectly right upon first try, just the way Sam himself had been when he had his first child. And it's just so odd and yet... wonderful to see Callen like this. In fact, this was what all had been secretly hoping for – that Callen would open up one day and feel comfortable revealing his feelings that openly, and actually freak here and there – if that makes it happen.

"No one's blaming you, man," Sam assures him.

"It's just that... there's so much going on now," Callen sighs. Right, there is generally suddenly living with a younger brother, caring for a younger brother, who is also traumatized, incorporate that with work, which is a more than busy business after all, to say the least, actually go to the supermarket on a regular basis, trying to learn how to cook, to coordinate Marty's sessions with Nate, his sessions with Nate, and then also the pair sessions, making sure Marty is occupied, take him to the beach to meet up with Eric, or make sure he is with Sam in the gym to work on his aggressions, do weekend trips to make it count, or pick him up from Nell or Kensi for game or movie nights. G's life truly is busier now than it used to be. And as much as he loves it, Callen has to admit that he still struggles at some point to find the balance – and not forget other things... such as school.

"It's just something that needs to be considered now. As much as we love the kid, I don't think it's the best solution to just park him on the couch to play some games until you're finished with work. Marty needs proper education, and that's nothing he's gonna learn from 300 rounds of playing DOOM," Sam shrugs, though his voice is surprisingly soft. That is one of the many upsides Callen noticed about this new situation: G has now ever the more the feeling that he has the entire team supporting him. They have his back, even when it comes to raising Marty – and Callen knows that this is something not all "friends" will automatically help you with. This is more than picking you up after you had one too many beers I a bar, or giving you a lift to the airport. What the team does for him is taking space in his life by granting space in theirs, for both Marty and him. They grew closer together over this – and Callen couldn't be gladder for that, or else he'd be truly lost at times.

"Yeah, no, of course. You're right. Absolutely. I'll get him a placement first chance I get," Callen mutters to himself, already mulling this over inside his head. Plan. He needs a plan.

"Uhm...," Sam means to say something, but Callen is already running through the list, "Okay, close to NCIS, close to home, with good sports clubs, school nurse, school psychologist, and prestigious, I mean, if we pull this off, we should do it the right way... let's see..."

Sam grimaces. He knows that Callen can get really stubborn once he's set his eyes on something. And now it's all about schools, education, diplomas, colleges and scholarships.

He has a plan.

* * *

Later the evening, the two brothers are finally back home. After dinner, the two settled down on the couch to watch some TV.

"Marty?" the older brother asks after a while. The teenager turns his head to face him, "What is it?"

"I have something to talk to you about," he begins.

"... Yeah?" he grimaces.

"Uhm, Sam mentioned something to me today that I didn't think about for a while, and now I want to discuss that with you," G goes on to explain.

"What?" Marty asks, trying hard not to sound too nervous – because that is what he always is when conversations start that way. Those conversations include either topics he doesn't want to deal with or changes he doesn't want to have either – and those are two aspects that always make his skin crawl, hence the nervousness.

"Well, something I totally forgot about is... school," Callen tells him. Marty pops his lips uncontrollably. Right... there was _something..._

"You see, I checked out schools today and made some phone calls, to test the waters. There are a few that I think would fit our purposes. If you want... ugh, we could have a look at those and see which one you like? Or maybe another one entirely? I mean... it's just something we have to think about. You're still fifteen. That means you have to attend school at some point. We were lucky that there were still holidays until now, but school year starts soon, so...," the older brother goes on. Marty nods his head hastily.

"I... yeah, sure, ugh... sounds like a plan," Marty shrugs weakly. Callen nods and waits a moment, observing his brother's reaction. G didn't expect his little brother to be giddy about this. After all, it's a change of pattern – and Marty takes a bit of time to adjust to that.

"Or do you want to talk to Nate first?" Callen asks.

"No, that's fine," Marty replies.

"And you're sure about that?" Callen narrows his eyes at him. "You know, not that you feel pressured."

"No, no, it's just, ugh, _new,"_ Marty shrugs.

"Serious," Callen wants to make sure.

"Serious," the teenager replies.

"Okay, so you wanna take a look at the schools now or maybe wait till tomorrow or so?" Callen asks, testing the waters with his younger brother. He doesn't want to rush him, but he also knows that he has to push him sometimes, to break him out of his shell.

"Yeah, no, let's... do that now," Marty nods. Callen takes the laptop off the table to show the teenager what he came up with.

"Alright, I talked to this school's principal this morning. She is a really nice person, as far as I can judge. The school is not too far from home or NCIS. I think the number of students is average, so it's not too big, which I think is good. Well, you get lunch there, which is probably a _big_ plus. You're living off of caffeine and sugar way too often because I still can't cook. They have one of the best sports clubs of the city, with gym, track, football field, everything. There is also a school psychologist. I mean, of course there is Nate, Richard and Keith, but maybe it's nothing bad to have one around, just in case?" Callen goes on to explain, pointing at the screen. Marty glances at the images with a facial expression Callen can't decipher.

"So? What do you think of it?" he asks.

"Looks good," is the simple reply by the teenager.

"What number are we at?" Callen questions.

"A two," Marty shrugs.

"Okay, so you're serious about this school? You like it?" the older brother asks another time.

"Yeah, yeah, it's... I mean, it's a school, so, ugh, I don't think we shouldn't make it too much of a big deal," Marty replies.

"So, that's all I have about this school. There's a few more you may want to have a look at," Callen grimaces, already wanting to search for the next sites, but Marty interrupts him, "No, that one's fine."

"You don't want to have a look at the others?" the older brother frowns.

"Look, to me a school's a school. This one has everything that we... I need, so why should we look through more? This one seems fine. It's just school after all," Marty argues. _It should be._

"Well, I just don't want you to think that you have to take this school because I like it. It's _your_ decision, Marty," G reminds him.

"I know. This school is _my_ choice," Marty nods, now with more strength in his voice.

"Okay, so I would suggest that I call the principal and other authorities to get the okay. And if it goes well, you can start at this school soon," Callen offers.

"Alright," Marty nods.

"And you're sure you're okay with that? I mean... I don't want to rush you," G tells him in all earnest. He doesn't want to push Marty into anything, it's just that the agent sees the necessity. He wants Marty to have a "normal" life. And that includes school, getting his diploma, going to college, all those things. He wants his brother to have a future, and for that... school is an essential part after all.

"No, no, you don't. It's just that I forgot about that, so I'm just a bit surprised, still," Marty admits.

"Yeah, me, too," G smirks.

"So, this school's okay for me," the teenager assures him another time.

"And if not, we can still switch schools. People do that all the while," Callen suggests.

"Yep," Marty nods.

"Alright, then we do that," Callen smiles.

"Okay... can I watch my show now?" Marty asks hopefully.

"What? Yeah, of course," Callen blinks at him. Marty takes the remote and switches to the Spanish telenovela. Callen pats him on the head as he gets up, "Alright, I leave you to your telenovela. I got some phone calls to make."

"Kay," Marty replies weakly, his eyes fixed on the screen, getting absorbed into fiction. Because about reality... he isn't too sure yet.

* * *

A few days later, Callen comes into the office – alone, for the first time in a felt eternity.

"Hey," he greets the other two agents, who are already busy on their reports.

"Hey," Kensi waves at him, but then grimaces, "Where did you hide Marty at?"

"I dropped him off at school this morning," Callen shrugs.

"Oh?" Sam blinks at him, "That was fast."

He knows how much of a pain it was to get his children into kindergarten, for starters. For that you already have to apply about five years before you even _think_ about having children.

"I pulled some threads and called in a few favors," Callen shrugs.

"... So you mentioned Hetty," his partner translates.

"Yeah," Callen admits. That is the great thing. Hetty knows people everywhere. Be it military, politics, economics, arts, education, you can be sure that she will have a friend in one of the top positions – how? No one knows other than herself. And no one dares to ask either.

"And you think Marty will be okay?" Kensi asks with concern in her voice.

"Well, we discussed this a few days back. I gave him some time to think it through. And he chose this school. We met up with the principal before to sign all papers. We should be good to go," Callen tells her. "I mean, he wasn't really excited, but what child is, huh?"

"Don't ask me. I hated school," Kensi snorts.

"You're just exaggerating,," Sam snorts.

"I was a tomboy without boobs, my school time was living hell!" Kensi argues vehemently. The two men chuckle at her exasperation.

"And you'll be fine, too, G?" Sam asks with a smirk tugging at his lips.

"What?" the other man frowns at him.

"I bet you made a total scene," Kensi snickers.

"It was okay. I mean, I won't deny that I rather have him around, but, c'mon, he has to get his education," Callen shrugs as he settles down. Though he has to admit to himself that he struggled this morning when he had to tell Marty goodbye. It was simply that he and his brother shared such a close connection that a part of him was afraid that this would be lost, but he is hopeful that this will work out after all. It's for Marty's own good after all.

"Yeah, well, let's hope that he doesn't share my school experiences," Kensi shudders.

"I bet he won't," Sam snorts sarcastically. Callen shakes his head before he starts to focus on his reports also.

* * *

Later the day, the three agents are still busy doing their paperwork. Suddenly Callen's phone beeps. He grimaces as he looks at the screen before answering, "Hello? G Callen here."

Sam and Kensi frown at him.

"What can I do for you...? Yes... yeah, I dropped him off this morning, why?" he asks politely, nods a few times, but then he cringes, his eyes widening, ".. wait... what? What...? No! I'll be right there."

He hangs up and hastily gathers his back, already to his feet.

"G, what's wrong?" Sam asks, though he already has a feeling what that might be about.

"The school just called. Marty's... Marty's gone since second class... I gotta get him," Callen bites his lower lip, tapping over his pockets for the keys. Sam gets up, "Alright, let's go."

"Huh?" the other man frowns at him incredulously.

"I'm coming with you," Sam tells him sternly.

"What?" Callen blinks.

"You'll crash the next best car if you drive now," Sam insists and claps him on the shoulder, "C'mon, let's not waste our time arguing. Let's get going here and find Marty. Kensi? You tell Hetty?"

"Sure," Kensi answers. G nods more to himself than to anyone else, showing as much appreciation as he can muster at that point before both men spurt to the car and drive to school. Sam parks the car as Callen almost jumps out and makes his way to the entrance, where the principal is already waiting for him.

"Hello, Mr. Callen," she greets him. She is a middle-aged woman with green eyes and lightly blond hair with a straight cut ending just above her shoulders. She wears a brown costume with a light rose top underneath. You can see the concern written all over her face.

"Hi," Callen nods curtly.

"I'm very sorry for this...," the principal begins, but Callen simply interrupts her, "Did you find him yet?"

She shakes her head, "We already checked all hallways and unoccupied rooms, but no luck yet."

"What happened?" he asks. The principal shrugs her shoulders, "I don't know any details. I called you immediately when my colleague informed me that Martin didn't return from the restroom. Since then we are looking for him."

Sam catches up to them, "So? What's the situation?"

"He sneaked away after second class," Callen tells him.

"... you are?" the principal frowns at Sam, who quickly introduces himself, "Sam Hanna, I'm a friend of the family, pleasure."

"Sam? You check the front yard, I'll go to the back... maybe he hides somewhere over there. Can you check the inside another time? My brother is very... sneaky," Callen grimaces.

"Yes, of course," the principal nods. Callen runs off, his stomach doing backflips. As it turns out, this was one huge mistake after all. He just prays that Marty didn't run off, as in... _run off_. Goodness sake, what if he ran off?! What if he got hit by a car when...? Callen swallows hard against the panic in his throat that feels like stones forcing their way through his windpipe. There are at least a million scenarios going through his head of what could have happened to Marty. And he damns the day that he decided that Marty had to be back to school. The agent finds himself close to tears, but holds it together for Marty. If he breaks down now, he won't find him, and he has to find him, has to, _has to_! G makes his way over to the gym.

"Marty? Marty! Marty! MARTY!" Callen yells atop of his voice. He runs to the back of the gym, where he finds a lone figure hunched on the ground. His heart almost leaps once G recognizes the mob of blond hair. He quickly sends a text to Sam and the teacher that he found him before approaching the teenager.

"Marty!" he gasps. The teen looks up to him, tears still standing in his eyes, which are red-rimmed from the tears he already shed. Callen slides down to the ground, not minding about his clothes at that point, checking the kid over once, finding no injuries, other than the hurt in his eyes.

"God, you had me scared," G brings out breathlessly. He wraps an arm around the kid, needing the contact, needing to feel him and his heartbeat. Callen lets out the breath he has held in ages now. The older man searches his brother's eyes, Marty's deep blue orbs staring at him like those of a scared deer. Callen settles down on the ground next to him, sensing that Marty and he have some conversation due.

"S, sorry," the teenager brings out. Callen holds up his hands, "Nothing you gotta be sorry for. Is just important that I found you and that you're not injured or... I don't know."

"I...," he means to say, but his voice breaks and he quickly runs his sleeve over his eyes to wipe away the new tears, each droplet being a stab right in the older brother's heart.

"So... what happened? Did someone bully you or...," Callen asks hesitantly, to which Marty only shakes his head.

"Then what happened?" the older brother asks in a hushed voice.

"This is all so stupid...," Marty grunts, biting his lower lip. Now G had to leave work because he is being stupid again! _Way to go, Marty!_

"What is?" Callen questions another time.

"I'm just stupid. I'm so sorry," Marty brings out. He doesn't want to be like this, but Marty always ends up being this – and the teenager wants it to be over. Callen rubs circles on the teenager's back, trying comfort him, "Nothing to be sorry for. I'd just like to know what's wrong. When I dropped you off, you seemed okay."

"I just disappointed you. I'm so damn sorry. I just...," Marty shakes his head.

"Marty, hey, you didn't disappoint me, in any way. You just scared me. Now tell me what's wrong," Callen argues. The teenager silences, sniffling against the fresh hot tears welling up in his eyes.

"You know you can talk to me about everything," Callen tries again.

"It's just stupid," Marty insists. It is stupid, so stupid that it hurts. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

"Even if it were, you can tell me," G insists. There is a longer pause before Marty manages to muster the courage to speak up again, "I thought I could do this."

"Do what?" the older brother frowns at him.

Marty gesticulates around himself, his arms shaking, "This!"

"School?" Callen blinks at him. The teenager nods his head hastily.

"When I sat in the car with you this morning I really thought I could... but then..._ of course._.. I just... I mess up," Marty grunts, feeling so utterly disappointed with himself that he could start to cry all over again. It all started so well, but then... just ruins and ashes all over again. The teenager hates it. Hates it from the bottom of his heart.

"No, Marty," Callen shakes his head.

"I mean... I go to class and... and everything's okay. The teachers seem nice and... the kids ain't bad either... but then... the first strike comes coz nearly every teacher wants to shake hands with me, and encourage the students to do the same and I just...," Marty admits, but then pauses, pursing his lips. Callen knows that Marty hardly accepts any body contact with strangers, because of the trauma. And G told the principal that this is something they have to pay special attention to – but the thing is that Marty didn't meet any of his teachers in advance. So maybe they didn't get the memo yet... _great._ Just great. That is something the older brother definitely should have insisted on. G mentally slaps himself for his own stupidity. _God!_

"But I... I got over that... they couldn't know, after all... and I... I... didn't panic, you know, as I normally do. After a minute or so, I was back to a five and I thought I was okay," Marty goes on to explain.

"_But?"_ Callen grimaces, and Marty continues, "But then Biology is on schedule and the teacher wants to introduce me to class and... I'm standing there upfront and... I'm supposed to tell something about myself and then I... I just... ask myself what on earth I should tell them... about... my time in the prostitution ring... or... the streets... or how I'm four years behind schedule and... when I say nothing at all... he just claps me on the shoulder to encourage me and... and I know he does it just for comfort but... then I'm suddenly right in the ring when the Boss made a bargain and pushed me over to one of the customers and... I mean, the teacher didn't do anything in that way, but I just... I was just right back in that moment. And I didn't have that in felt eternities now. So I just excuse myself to the bathroom... but then run off to here. This is just nuts," Marty sighs. Callen stares at the teenager, feeling utterly guilty over the fact that he was the one to bring that upon the kid. Not only that the teachers weren't properly prepped up, but as it turns out, Marty also just a flashback. _Great, just great_, Nate will _love_ that once he returns.

"It sucks that I just won't function! No matter how much I try! I just don't! I mean, I know that we're okay, but not fine. I know that I can't expect everything to just disappear. It won't ever. We've been over it and under it for so long now, but... but _still!_" Marty grunts. He took to heart that his "healing" is no linear progress. That there are setbacks. The teenager fully understands that. But he honestly thought that this would be something he could do without suffering from a breakdown. It seemed so easy, so... _normal._ However, Marty seemingly can't have normal. And that makes him crazy.

"I was like you, I thought I could do this. Honestly! Because this something that should do me good. Ordered structures. Set routines. Getting used to people again. And getting my friggin' education! This should be alright, but I can't even go to school for one day without being complicated! Only because a few too many people wanna shake hands and be nice to me and wanna know something about me, I get a total panic attack that I flee to here. This sucks! Dammit!" Marty breaks out. He nudges his fists against his temples to somehow relieve the tension building up in his body.

"I'm so sorry, Marty," Callen sighs. The teenager breaks free and looks at him, clearly confused.

"What would _you_ be sorry for? You send me to one of the fanciest schools in L.A. – and all I manage is a major panic attack, so that you have to drive all the way from work to console me," Marty snorts.

"Marty, no," Callen insists.

"What?! All I do is producing more work for you. Over and over again. That's just not fair!" Marty breaks out. He wants to be better, for G, for everyone. Marty knows that the trauma won't disappear. He knows there are setbacks, but he wanted this one thing to work. Just once he wanted to be... a teenager who simply goes back to school. He didn't want to be the traumatized boy from the streets who is like an alien most of the time and doesn't know how reality works, other than from observation. Marty doesn't want to be bystander anymore. He wants to be right back in. He can deal with panic attacks, he learns how to. However, Marty would have taken five to ten private panic attacks over this one. Because it was just a painful reminder for him that nothing is normal anymore. That seemingly everything is complicated - for him.

"Marty, this is no mistake you made. I guess I should've given it more time, and probably dedicate a few more sessions with Nate to it," Callen argues. And _really,_ he should have.

"But we _did_ talk about this!" Marty insists. "And you gave me time."

"But not enough, as it seems. I mean, honestly, I realized that you weren't too delighted about it at first. I should've acted upon _that,_ and not upon having you in school for the next school year," Callen snorts. Because, honestly? _So what_?

"I was... later, delighted, I mean. I thought that this would do me good," Marty replies. At first he really wasn't impressed with the idea, and the teenager showed that openly, but once they met the principal and she seemed alright, Marty took a liking to the idea. And he liked it even more once he realized that this might be helpful for G also. Marty knows how much stress his older brother has now thanks to him. And even if the teenager honestly believes and understands that Callen likes to do it for him, he wants to give back at some point. And Marty thought that this would be one of those things. If G hadn't brought it up, Marty perhaps would have addressed it himself, actually. He just wants to return the favor, if only in small portions. However, his psyche, seemingly, doesn't want him to. Marty's brain is such a selfish thing at times...

"But it obviously doesn't," Callen argues.

"I'm just being stupid, G. I mean... I'm just... just give it a little time and I can... I just gotta, you know...," Marty suggests, but that is when his older brother sternly denies, "No."

"I can do this, G!" Marty insists.

"I know that you _can,_ but that doesn't mean you _have_ to. There's other things we can do," Callen tells his younger brother.

"I gotta go to school," Marty argues. He knows that children have to attend school, by the law. And even with his state as being traumatized, they can't make exceptions for him for the rest of his life. Marty doesn't want that either. He wants to be normal, more or less. He wants to be back in reality, because that is where G is, where life is. Marty wants to live again.

"You gotta get your education, but there are dozens of options to do that, Marty. It doesn't have to be you in High School," G argues.

"But I can work through that," Marty says another time.

"Marty, you don't have to _work_ through that. This is not supposed to be some obstacle you have to overcome, some bad ache to breathe through. High School can be a great experience, and that's what it should be for you, what I want it to be for you, coz you deserve it. You deserve to learn how great it can be at school... but maybe you just need a bit more time till we get there. And there's absolutely no shame in that. Okay?" G explains.

"But...," Marty stammers.

"I mean... We might just as well start with homeschooling or so," Callen offers.

"Homeschooling?" Marty blinks at him.

"Yeah, thinking about it... I should've been thinking about _that_ one first," G gesticulates, knocking against his forehead – why is it that he only has the great ideas once the damage is already done? And he calls himself a perfectionist – this couldn't be further away from perfect. Marty frowns at his brother's apparent disappointment.

"Well, maybe we can arrange it that we teach you over at the office. Whenever we're around one of us will do it, if not it'll be Hetty, and I can surely hire some tutor to come help you catch up on the things you missed out on," Callen goes on. This sounds _so_ much better, now thinking about it.

"I don't want extra-treatment, G. I just wanna...," Marty argues, but Callen interrupts him, "Homeschooling is something perfectly normal these days. Many kids do that. The only difference is that with us it'd be over at work because I'm not always at home, technically."

And that is when Callen starts to understand why Marty denies the idea of homeschooling - Marty wants to be "normal" and no longer the extra-treatment, which is probably also the reason why he actually wanted to try out the school-project.

"I only make trouble," Marty sighs.

"You don't," Callen assures him. "And honestly? I really think it's the better option, giving it some thought. We still have tons of catching up to do, which is why I enjoy having you over at work so much. Plus, that doesn't mean you have to do homeschooling forever. You just... you just wait till you're more comfortable and then, once you feel ready for it... you go to the one course you really like, but just this one and... if you feel good with that... you do that... and then we slowly increase the courses... or we don't. Everything's open, Marty. Nothing's set into stone."

"I'm just so fucked up," Marty curses to himself.

"You're not, Marty," Callen shakes his head.

"_Messed_ up, then?" the teenager huffs.

"Let's agree that we both are still pretty messed up, but I think it's getting better," Callen offers a soft smile, but Marty only frowns at him, _"This_ is better to you?"

"Well, we didn't have that kinda conversation before, when we should have – and before you get to say it, that is solely because of me. Even if I told you that I didn't want to rush it... I rushed it. But now we talked this out – and that's what we should do right from the start, from this point on, and that's the improvement, now we know," the older brother shrugs.

"I'll try," Marty shrugs. Because he doesn't know if he will manage. As much as he trusts G, as much as he loves his brother, there are times when Marty can't talk about whatever it is that is going through his mind. Sometimes he is just not ready for it, other times... he lacks the words, simple as that. Some emotions or thoughts are just so raw that words can't describe them or so obscure that no matter how much Marty may try, he couldn't put his finger on it.

"Me, too," Callen nods with a grin tugging at his lips. A quick smirk fades of the teenager's lips.

"We good?" Callen asks cautiously. Marty nods hastily, wiping the last tears away.

"Good. Ready to go?" Callen smiles at him.

"Oh... yeah, right, the other courses...," Marty grimaces, but Callen holds up his hands, "No, I'll just gather Sam and the principal and then we head out. That was enough trouble for a day."

"Sam's here?" Marty grimaces.

"Yeah. He was afraid I'd total the car... and I can't really blame him...," Callen winks at him, which only makes Marty's frown deepen, so G goes on to explain, "When the principal _called_ and said that you disappeared... I panicked. She didn't know what happened, so I thought someone hurt you or so. And I guess if I had driven in that condition... I may not have made it here in one piece... even if I probably would've tried to crawl my way here if it had to be..."

Marty smirks again, wiping another fresh tear away, "... thanks."

Because he knows that G means it.

"Seriously, not for that," Callen says softly. The "_I come for you_" left unsaid, but clear to either one. Callen comes for Marty no matter what. And that is strangely reassuring especially for the teenager. That there is suddenly someone, or actually many someones, who'd come for him, even if it is just about a panic attack in school. Maybe that is the new "normal" they start to define. Maybe "normal" simply means not to be alone anymore.

The two get up. In the motion, Callen snakes his arm around the teenager. Marty willingly leans into the touch. They make their way back to the entrance where Sam and the principal are already waiting for them.

"Everything okay?" Sam asks as the two come closer. Callen nods, offering a faint smirk that says it all. He holds on to Marty a little tighter as he sees the teenager withdrawing into himself. Marty glances up to the principal, "... I'm sorry I caused you so much trouble, ma'am. Wasn't my intention, honest."

"We all know it wasn't. And your older brother informed me what was the reason, so really... no problem. I'm sorry you had such a rough start. That was surely not what anyone wanted it to be for you," she assures him. Marty nods his head.

Callen turns to his partner, "Sam? You take Marty to the car? I'll be right after."

Sam nods, but then turns to the teenager, "C'mon, Marty. Saw one helluva Chevy over there. Gotta hear your opinion."

Marty nods graciously as both walk off.

"On a word?" Callen asks the principal, who nods hastily, "Of course, Mr. Callen."

"I wanted to apologize to you. For rushing it with Marty in the first place... and for being that rude," Callen begins. He knows that it wasn't nice to snap at her when he arrived, but G just had to find Marty. Then he thinks about no one and nothing else. Just Marty.

"Oh, no, I understand that fully," the principal waves her hands in surrender. "Any parent would have acted like that. And as for rushing things, you informed us that you only take care of him for a couple of weeks now. And with troubled kids it's always... well, _troubled_. I had that myself with my daughter."

"Pardon?" G blinks at her, so she goes on to explain, "Well, gladly she didn't have what Marty went through, not even close, it's just that she was very mute in the beginning. She started to talk very late, which was why everyone was worried. We feared she might have a condition, like Asperger or autism or God knows what. She wasn't sick, so the doctors told us, but it drove my husband and me insane. You try to do everything right, but then you don't get through to the kid... it's hard. And I know that you get really stubborn and obsessed with trying to do everything right. I devoured all books on the topic and bugged teachers and therapists and doctors with my knowledge because I thought I knew best after all... In the end she started to talk and things are fine now, but... I get that feeling."

"Thanks," Callen smiles – honestly thankful to hear that he is not the only one who messes up as a parent. Even teachers do. That's nice to know.

"Not for that," she winks at him.

"Well, either way... uhm... I don't think Marty will manage to come here for a while. This was one false start," Callen grimaces.

"That is perfectly understandable," she nods.

"Well, he was overwhelmed. I should have been clearer on Marty's condition. And that involves that he hardly takes any body contact with strangers... which happened, as far as he told me, and that is what upset him," Callen explains.

"Oh, it must have been terror for him," the principal shakes her head, empathy in her voice.

"It was, frankly. Which is why he won't be able to attend the classes for some time. I think we'll go with homeschooling from this point on. Then he is with people he knows and can adjust. As far as I could gather from what he told me now, he's also feeling embarrassed that he's so far behind schedule, so I hope that once he did some catching up, he'll feel more confident about school in general," G goes on to explain. He just want to be clear to everyone now.

"That sounds like a way better plan for him," she agrees.

"... but... I was thinking about maybe having him return step by step, you know? Just to take some courses he enjoys to gain more confidence? Would that be possible?" he asks.

"I suppose that would make it easier for him. Maybe sports or arts will be good starters," she suggests.

"I thought the same. So would it be okay that we leave it at that? I mean, he still has to get his credit points and that's what we'll handle with the homeschooling, but I really think it'll do him good, once the time is ready, to go to school. Whether or not he gets credit points for it. He needs friends his age and all. I don't want to bind him to me... even if, okay, I want to, but...," Callen smirks, and the principal nods knowingly, "You have all my sympathy, Mr. Callen. I didn't want to leave my daughter either, at all. I rather would have tied her up in her room to have her all to myself. When she told me that she didn't want to go to the same school I'm principal of, it broke my heart."

"So... you think we can arrange it like that?" Callen asks.

"It'll take some paperwork and negotiation with the Board of Education, perhaps, but I think this won't be much of an issue. And I already received a very... interesting call from a Lady named Lange, your boss, as I assume?" she shrugs... just how does Hetty always do that?

"She let me know that if there are any organizational troubles, she'd handle it," the principal tells him.

"She wields the power," Callen smirks. The woman chuckles softly. Already when Callen came to meet her the first time, she knew that this would be an... exceptional situation.

"So I think we will all come to terms. Before Martin comes back, I'll have all teachers specifically instructed, however, so that we don't have a second disaster – at least from our side. It was really a bad coincidence that his teacher didn't know about this, but he was sick before, so we didn't have the time to actually elaborate on that," she sighs.

"It was not your fault. I should have thought about that sooner – and then maybe we could have handled the situation differently right from the beginning," Callen assures her.

"And Martin is really okay, or...?" she asks another time. Callen smiles. She cares about her students, that's really a huge plus. If or once Marty is ready to go to school, this will help a great deal for sure.

"He is. It was just... a panic attack. We work on that," G assures her.

"Good," she smiles happily, but then taps her chin thoughtfully, "Oh, by the way, if you want me to, I can give you some information sheets for homeschooling."

"That would be great," Callen nods at her gratefully.

"Is it okay if I just send you an e-mail?" she offers.

"Perfect. Really, you just saved my day," Callen smiles at her.

"Wish it were like that. But I think we will find an arrangement everyone can agree with, most importantly in Martin's interest, though," she says.

"Right," Callen agrees.

"Well, I'll let you know as soon as I have new information. And if you have questions, give me a call. We don't let any of our students down, even if they come a little later," she grins at him, obviously relieved that the situation didn't escalate any further.

"Thanks a lot. For everything," Callen tells her.

"I hope we see Marty here again some time soon," she winks at him.

"Sure hope so, too. Goodbye," Callen nods, waving his hand.

"Bye," she says, taking her leave back inside as Callen walks back to the car, the tension leaving his body with every step he takes. He gets inside and is glad that Marty and Sam are talking relentlessly about cars, as it seems. It's always a good sign when Marty doesn't withdraw from the world and just stares into nothing after a bad moment. Even if this situation was surely a mess, Callen is relieved to see that it seemingly didn't throw them back to the first step, but maybe just a few. Perhaps this situation brought something good about after all. Now he knows that he can count on at least the principal. He knows he can count on Sam. And he knows that Marty wants this also, if only in smaller steps than firstly estimated.

"Hey," he greets them.

"Everything clarified?" Sam asks.

"Yup. She agreed to a new arrangement," Callen nods.

"What new arrangement?" Sam frowns.

"Homeschooling," Callen replies.

"That... sounds better," Sam winks at him. Callen turns around to the backseat to talk to the teenager, "Marty? You wanna go back to the apartment or to the office? Coz then Sam drops you off there?"

"The office," Marty replies quickly.

"Office it is, then," Callen shrugs before he sits back down, looking ahead. Sam starts the engine and they drive back to NCIS.

Back home.


	33. Dioramas, Tests & Confidential

Author's Note: Hello everyone, thanks a lot for the positive feedback. You're really a nice readership – and simply amazing. I'm sorry that updating takes me that long lately. Writer's block and university stuff don't mix well, I guess. I just don't find the time – and if I find it, I can't write. Awesome.

But enough of my whining, hereby the next chapter. For those who wait for some action/drama etc. – we're getting to it. I just have some gaps to fill, still – and for that I need a bit of space, that means a few more chapters^^ For this one, I want to wrap up the homeschooling affair a bit – and get some Hetty/Marty goodness. I need some of that...

Anyways, as always, I hope that you'll like this chapter, if not, my apologies.

Read, review, and hopefully enjoy^^

* * *

After the school-debacle from a few days back, things gladly returned to their usual course. Callen is just relieved that it didn't leave any permanent damage for Marty that his first day back to school was such a disaster. The teenager didn't suffer more nightmares or other panic attacks out of the usual. If he had, the older brother wouldn't ever have stopped blaming himself for bringing that upon Marty. Of course Nate gave G hell over the phone for doing just what he warned him about not to do, but the psychologist, as Callen's friend also, understood that G really was trying to act in Marty's interest. So yes, their normalcy is a special kind of normalcy after all. However, none of them finds anything wrong with it, for as long as they are together.

And so the brothers come from home into the next home as they enter the NCIS building.

"Morning," the two say in unison as they approach Sam and Kensi, who greet back, "Morning, you two."

"Sam, you look tired?" Callen tilts his head at his partner, who buried his forehead in his palms.

"I'm not tired, I'm _exhausted._ The girls are supposed to do a diorama – and I'm supposed to help them. And I... hate dioramas, from the bottom of my heart," he grunts.

"What? You do origami," G argues with a smirk.

"That's two different things. Origami is about calm. With dioramas, you just get glue everywhere, the room is a mess, and the girls still won't be satisfied," he grunts.

"I hope you didn't give them superglue," Kensi snickers.

"No, but they were so kind to give it to me – without my notice," Sam snorts. "It took hours to get the pencil off my palm again."

"So add superglue to the list of things your girls are not supposed to get. Along with wands and what else was it?" Kensi laughs.

"Splatter movies and marbles," Sam mutters.

"What's the diorama supposed to be about?" Marty asks curiously.

"Well, the school wants to involve the parents, which is why I'm supposed to do it with them – for when the Career Day comes in Jasmine's class," Sam shrugs. "So the idea is to do something about my job."

"Oh, that sounds like fun," Marty smiles.

"I would just paint it black and then attach a sticky note to it reading 'Top Secret'. End of story," Kensi shrugs.

"I thought about that, too, but the girls want to do something that really has to do with my job... though they always want glitter... on everything. And there isn't much glitter in this job, so this always conflicts. We've done five dioramas by now, and none satisfied them. I'm losing my mind over this task," Sam grumbles. "And I'm a federal agent, for goodness sake!"

"Maybe you should send in Marty as the mediator. He always knows what those two want," Kensi grins.

"Hey, the idea is not that bad," Callen nods.

"Who said my ideas are bad?" Kensi narrows her eyes at him mockingly.

"You ever made a diorama?" Sam frowns at the teenager, who gives a shrug, "Just one in elementary school, but I got an A for that."

"What was the diorama about?" Kensi asks.

"The ocean," Marty shrugs. _Obviously._

"Oh, of course," the female agent snickers.

"So you see, you have a diorama expert right here," G smirks.

"Would you volunteer to help... mediate?" Sam grimaces.

"Sure," Marty smiles happily. He didn't get to see the girls in a while – and it's honestly breaking his heart because he adores those two. They remind him how easy happiness can be – when all it takes to make them happy is some made-up story or tossing teddy bears at them.

"Great," Sam smirks, visibly relieved. Marty really has a good rapport with the girls.

"And hey, if you need a babysitter any other time, I bet Marty's more than willing to volunteer," Callen goes on. Marty blushes lightly. He mentioned it to his older brother a few times that he missed the girls and that even with the utmost awful experience of last babysitting Marty still would like to do it some other time. However, he didn't expect G to ever bring up that topic.

"Really?" Sam blinks at him. He actually expected Marty not to after the last babysitting resulted in a real battle – and shootout... and the kids almost dead... no, to the day, Sam is not past this – and possibly won't ever be.

The agent glances at the teenager, who gives a shy shrug of the shoulders, "I wouldn't mind."

"Hey, if you want to, you're our new babysitter," Sam declares instantly. He doesn't just care about Marty – he owes the teenager. He saved his little girls. And that means Marty gets almost anything from him if he asked for it. So, thinking about it, Marty would get almost anything from anyone of the team. Kensi is all over him because they are "DVD buddies" and because of the boots he's made for her. Kensi, since her birthday, proudly presents them at least once a day, though all have already seen them. Eric and Nell are the same. If Marty does the puppy eyes, Eric takes him for a surf any time. And Nell is always forcing him into playing computer games with her – because for some reason, he very often wins, though he doesn't know the game. And she complains when she doesn't get to spend time with him. Callen goes without saying – whatever Marty wants, Marty gets. He is the big brother, so that stands to reason. And even Hetty has a soft spot for him, to say the absolute least. So yes, Marty didn't just creep his way into everyone's hearts – he twisted them all round his finger.

"No kidding?" Marty blinks at him hopefully.

"Hey, I just didn't ask because I thought you didn't want to," Sam shrugs.

"That'd be so cool!" Marty exclaims, unable to hold back the glee in his voice.

"I guess it's decided then," Callen shrugs. That is the moment Eric comes down, with his alarm of the day, a horn.

"Guys? New case!" the analyst declares dramatically. Sam and Kensi are instantly up to chase after him to take the horn away from him. Eric runs away with a shriek.

"Okay, Marty...," Callen turns to the younger brother, but Marty holds up his hands knowingly, "Couch, read in the new school books, got it."

Hetty suddenly approaches the two – one never knows how she can just appear out of thin air, though no one bothers to ask anymore. Some things are simply set into stone – and that is such a thing.

"I will join you in a minute," she tells G. "I just want to have a little talk with Mr. Deeks."

Callen frowns, "Okay. See you in a bit."

With that he follows the other upstairs where one can still hear Eric yelp helplessly, seemingly as Kensi and Sam take the horn away from him by force. Hetty smiles at Marty, "Shall we?"

She motions to the couch. Marty nods silently. She walks ahead while the teenager follows her with a small frown, uncertain what will come next. Both sit down on the couch.

"What's up? Did I do something wrong or so?" Marty asks sheepishly.

"Oh, no, far from that," Hetty assures him.

"Then what is the matter?" the teenager frowns at the petite woman in brown jacket. So she tells him, "I have a little assignment for you."

She hands him a folder.

"What's that good for?" Marty makes a face.

"It's an evaluation test," Hetty explains, which makes the teenager almost jump. _Test_? What test?! Will she know quiz him on the books she gave him? _Oh God!_ He should have taken notes after all!

"No worries, it doesn't get graded or so," she assures him quickly.

"What kinda test doesn't get graded?" Marty grimaces. He always thought that was the point behind tests, but then he has an idea. "Is that so we know where I stand on my educational level?"

"Exactly," Hetty nods with a smile. "I didn't invent that test, but I had a very interesting conversation with your principal – and she suggested that this is something we may do to determine where you stand at. We don't want to bore you with topics that you are already well at. We want you to be able to use your time the most efficiently."

Marty smiles at her sweetly – Hetty tries to make it appear overly positive when in fact this is also supposed to show where his deficiencies are. However, the teenager appreciates her effort to encourage him. The gesture counts.

"That makes sense. But I didn't study for that thing," he warns her.

"That's the point, Mr. Deeks," Hetty nods.

"So that means it's really okay that I have... school here?" Marty asks. G simply said that it should be fine, and he knows that his older brother discussed that with Hetty at some point, but in the teenager's opinion, it's a matter of politeness to ask personally. After all, it's _his_ education they are talking about. And G can't always fight the battles for him, no matter how small they may be.

"I find it the absolutely best option. Mr. Callen will only grow skittish and absolutely annoying if he is constantly thinking about how you are doing with your tutor over at home...," Hetty snorts. Marty looks down shyly, so the petite woman adds quickly, "... and far more importantly, I like having my little assistant around. Who else would I challenge on car sounds?"

"A motor magazine?" Marty shrugs with a smirk.

"Good point, yet, I rather do so with a good friend," Hetty smiles.

"_I count myself in nothing else so happy, As in a soul remembering my good friends,_" Marty suddenly says, his eyes focusing on the ceiling. Hetty tilts her head, "Ah, Shakespeare, Mr. Deeks? We didn't even turn to that yet. You keep surprising me."

"That one? I only heard it from a guy who recited Shakespeare on the streets... I don't even know which play that is... we didn't read Shakespeare when I was still in school," Marty shakes his head. It was actually one of the greatest things for Marty when still in the streets to watch the street artists, musicians and other "free spirits", as he liked to refer to them. Even if it made him sad that he couldn't pay them as much and often as he would have liked to, it was on these occasions that Marty, for a fleeting moment, felt happy, felt free with them. The teenager felt just like any spectator or listener who enjoyed what he saw or heard. Marty applauded to them almost erratically once they were done with a performance. Most people gave him the stares for that, but Marty never really cared. Those free spirits sparked hope within him – that you can be happy even in the streets, that good things happen even there. That there is also music, dance and show, a bit of magic – that this is something not solely reserved for "real life" – and that lent him strength to pull through the darker times, the ones where music was so far away that only silence reaches his ears.

"Then it was still nicely recited, Mr. Deeks, and I thank you for the nice comment," Hetty smiles happily. "So now, I would suggest that we get started, yes?"

"Okay... how long?" Marty asks.

"Sixty minutes," she replies.

"Alright," Marty nods, though his eyes are already fixing on the test. Hetty smiles to herself. He looks so much like his brother when he is focused on a goal.

"Very well. I'll be back once time is up. If you can't answer a question, it's no problem, just leave it empty," Hetty tells him.

"Okay," Marty answers.

"Then have fun," Hetty smiles. Marty opens the folder and starts to work on the test while Hetty walks upstairs to the Ops.

"Everything alright?" Callen asks as she comes in. Hetty holds up her hands, "I just thought it'd be good to use our time wisely. This case means that you won't have as much time for Mr. Deeks, which is why it might be about just right that we get some things straight for his education."

"Thanks," Callen smiles at her happily. He had a lengthy discussing with her about how they want to handle Marty's homeschooling – and G was honestly surprised just how fast his boss agreed to the idea, and volunteered to overlook Marty's studies for when he is not around and she is not otherwise occupied. Even if Hetty gave him hell at first – for the same reasons Nate lectured him for, with rushing things _and_ for not consulting her about this first. For a moment, G was honestly convinced that she'd never let them do homeschooling that way, but that is when he realized that she just played him, probably to get back at him. Both laughed, agreed on the new plan and everything was okay again. Really, he is lucky with this team, no way around it.

"Anytime," she nods before she turns to the analysts, "So, Mr. Beale, Ms. Jones?"

"Dead Marine by name Emilio Sánchez," Eric nods, pointing at the picture on the screen.

"Hung himself in his room last night," Nell goes on to explain.

"How are we involved, then? If it's suicide?" Sam makes a face.

"Because he didn't hang himself, he was hung," Hetty shrugs.

"Right," Callen nods, stepping closer to the screen. "The stool didn't fall like that. It was put there on purpose."

"Yeah, the angle is not right," Kensi adds.

"This is the third in a short time, which is why we think it's a series," Eric adds.

"Any suspects yet?" G asks.

"They didn't have obvious enemies, so...," Nell shrugs, to which Callen nods knowingly, "Ask roundabout."

"Pretty much," the analyst replies.

"Family?" Kensi questions.

"A mother with two children," Eric exhales. All grimace. That is one of the worst things about their job.

"Okay, so... You two go visit the scene," Callen orders. "I'll go talk to the family, see where that goes. You guys observe all computer activity and see if someone makes a statement or any other hints. You know best what to look for."

"Got it," Eric nods, holding up his thumb.

"Very well, then this is what we do," Hetty nods. The agents spread out to run the investigation. Knowing that everything is under control for the moment, Hetty leaves the Ops also. Once the hour is over, she makes her way back into the lounge area, with two cups of tea. Marty already put the folder in front of him, still glancing at it, biting his lower lip nervously.

"I see you're finished," Hetty smiles at him as she sits down, sliding the tea-cup over to him.

"Thanks," Marty nods gratefully at her for the tea before he replies, "You said sixty minutes. Those were over... two minutes ago."

"You have a very fine sense for time... given you don't wear a wristwatch," Hetty smirks.

"You get that when you don't have one for so long and still gotta be on time for when the restaurants clear out the garbage," Marty shrugs.

"It's a talent, still, and a handy one, too," Hetty argues with a smirk tugging at her lips.

"Thanks," he smiles before he quickly changes the subject out of embarrassment. "Where's G?"

"On an assignment. Someone died and he is talking to the family," Hetty tells him.

"Oh," Marty nods with empathy in his voice.

"So, how did you find the test?" Hetty changes the topic back to what is the main purpose – and something rather positive, so she believes.

"Dunno... some stuff I didn't know about _at all_...," Marty makes a face. He felt like a total idiot most of the time. He had honestly no clue what they wanted from him. There were terms Marty never heard about until now – and that means he doesn't even know what topics he should have had in school. And that realization makes the teenager feel utterly disappointed with himself. He knew that he'd be behind schedule thanks to missing out on so much school, but Marty still had hoped that he could cover up for it somehow. Because that is what he usually managed out in the streets. Even if Marty didn't know how at first, he either learned it quickly, or figured his own way. However, with school it seems that he can't just get around the rules – rules he doesn't even know. And that honestly scares him.

"As I said, that is no shame, Mr. Deeks. It's completely understandable that there are some things you didn't already learn at the age of eleven," Hetty assures him.

"But that wasn't all just evaluation test for my knowledge," Marty narrows his eyes at her.

"It wasn't?" she blinks at him innocently.

"Those logic tasks in the end are nothing you learn in school as far as I know," Marty argues with a smirk. Hetty grins to herself without further comment as she takes the folder, "So, Mr. Deeks. I will now take that and compare it to the key. And then we will discuss this, yes?"

"Okay," Marty nods sheepishly. She hands him a worn little book without a title on it.

"What's that?" the teenager frowns at her.

"It's something I read when I'm lost," Hetty tells him, to which Marty can't help but smirk, "You ever feel lost?"

Because Marty honestly doubts that Hetty would ever feel lost, or possibly ever felt lost. She seems to be the kind of person who always knows what she wants – and who doesn't stop until she accomplished her goals.

"Oh, Mr. Deeks, everyone does once in a while," Hetty argues in a soft voice.

"Some more often than others, as it seems," Marty exhales. Because feeling lost is something that seems to be a working definition for his life – more often than Marty would like to admit to himself. It got better now that he stays with G, but still there are those moments when Marty can't tell what he thinks or feels – not even to himself. Then it is not just about being unable to verbalize his feelings, but it's about not knowing what those feelings or thoughts are. He gains more and more structures, and that honestly helps the teenager a great deal in removing chaos, but very often he still feels out of place, safe for when he is with the team, because that is the only fixed point he dares to rely on, the one constant that he hopes will never change. For the rest, it still seems to be true that life outside that fixed sphere consists of drifting islands of obscure shapes with unknown boundaries, covered in thick layers of fog so that he doesn't know where to safely step on.

The teenager is pushed out of his thoughts by Hetty's voice, however, "I want you to read that story for me while I'll have a look at that folder, yes?"

"Okay," Marty nods. With that Hetty walks off, leaving the teenager to take a closer look at the book. After all, it's nothing new that she hands him books to read – and Marty loves her choice up until now. After some suspicion, he opens the lid and mouths the words as he reads, completely absorbed into the words.

And suddenly all insecurities seem far away.

* * *

Callen and the others return some hours later, all still brooding over the case.

"Okay, those guys are weird!" Kensi exclaims.

"I agree. Their man gets killed and all they got is a shrug," Sam mutters. That is not how Marines should act – and it pisses him off when he meets Marines who don't live up to the standards he set for himself and for this occupation, because it is more than an occupation, it's a way of living.

"The wife was just devastated," Callen tells them. "She had no idea who could mean her husband harm."

"This starts to suck already," Kensi exhales.

"Maybe Eric and Nell had luck?" Sam suggests.

"You guys go ahead, I'll just check on Marty little quick," Callen nods.

"Sure," Kensi waves. The two walk upstairs as Callen makes his way over to the couch where Marty is eying an old book lying in front of him.

"Do you wait for it to come back to life?" Callen asks with a smirk. Marty blinks up to him, his eyes instantly shining at the sight of his older brother, "You're back."

"Yeah. Wasn't much we could do," Callen shrugs.

"I'm sorry 'bout that," Marty tells him.

"So... what are you staring at?" Callen tilts his head as he takes a moment to sit with his younger brother.

"Something Hetty gave me to read, a short story," Marty explains.

"So you are already done with the test?" the older brother asks.

"You knew 'bout that?" Marty blinks at him.

"Hetty only informed me when she had already given it to you," Callen replies, but then holds up his hands in surrender. "This was not _my_ plan."

"Good. Coz otherwise I would've considered this a mean conspiracy," Marty jokes.

"I'd never," Callen joins him.

"Uh-huh," Marty huffs playfully.

"So it went alright?" G asks curiously, to which Marty can't help but grimace, "I don't think so."

"Why?" the older brother frowns.

"I just didn't know most of the stuff," Marty shrugs.

"But this is nothing you gotta feel bad about. I had to take a similar test, too, one time after I was sent to a different school," Callen grimaces. Marty frowns at him, so G explains, "You know that I moved around a lot. And one school required me to take a test to place me in the right courses. I hated it with all my heart, but in the end it was good because the courses were on the right level for me."

"It just sucks to realize that have no clue what on earth they want from you when it comes to about half of the questions," Marty exhales.

"C'mon, buddy, you know we got a handle on this. You're smart. That's one of the best starting points," Callen encourages him.

"Knowing the stuff would be," Marty snorts.

"Look at it like that: You can always catch up on material, but you don't catch up on being smart. You either are... or are not. And you are," G argues.

"But not school-smart," Marty corrects him.

"What's the difference between smart and school-smart?" Callen grimaces. He never heard of that distinction before.

"School-smart is to look at algebra and grasp at least the idea. Normal-smart is about having handy skills people like I acquire that are totally... random," Marty explains.

"You didn't even see the results, did you? So don't get upset about it before you know, okay?" Callen argues in a soft voice.

"I know, I know, it's a bad habit to always see the downside. It's just... now that it's on paper... it feels more real," Marty admits.

"What feels more real?" G knits his eyebrows at the teenager.

"The four years I missed," is the simply reply. Callen grimaces. He doesn't like to see Marty sad, but it's normal that he feels like that. It must be a painful reminder to suddenly have it black on white, those four years that were taken from him. Marty missed out on four years of school, of charming teachers, study groups, crushes, pranks, field trips and science fairs, all those things that annoy any other student, but surely would have been cherished by Marty if he had had the chance. Instead, he spent his days memorizing cars, stealing things to eat, figuring out the best ways to stay under the radar, run from social service, and each time when seeking help getting kicked in the nuts by the departments who should have cared about him. There they are, four years lost, on paper. And it makes Callen's heart sink that it has to be his brother who is forced to go through that, over again.

"... but...," Marty suddenly says in a happier voice. Callen cocks an eyebrow at that. He certainly didn't imagine to hear a "but" in a lighter tone at _any_ point. If at all, he expected Marty to withdraw again. "... I got time to catch up on that now, right?" Marty completes. Callen feels bedazzled for a second, before he replies quickly, "Surely do."

"... it might be I lost those four years, but I gained something for it. Seems like a good trade to me," Marty shrugs, suddenly back to being happy, as it seems. He quickly smirks at Callen, who has to try hard not to look taken aback by that confession. Marty still struggles talking about his feelings very often, but this just now... he just told him that the trauma he suffered from may have been worth it if it brought him here, brought them together. That only brings back the memory of the day trip when Marty told him something similarly. It was worth it for as long as they found each other, and not lose each other. Maybe Marty didn't lose those four years after all, but may be granted the chance to find them again, just in a different way.

Callen gently grabs Marty's lower arm, smirking back at him. A few moments later, Hetty walks in on them with the folder in hand, "Ah, Mr. Callen, so you decided to join us again?"

"Yeah, just had a little heart-to-heart with Marty," Callen smirks.

"Very well. The others are already asking for you. Ms. Jones and Mr. Beale may have found something interesting," Hetty tells him. Callen gets up, "Alright."

He turns to Marty, "So we're okay?"

"Yeah, we're great," Marty smiles at him happily.

"Okay, then I catch you later," G says before he walks off. Hetty smirks as she takes his spot, "I suppose we would rather do that in privacy."

Marty nods at her gratefully.

"So... how bad is it?" the teenager scrunches his nose.

"Oh, far from bad, Mr. Deeks," she assures him. "But before I tell you the exact results, I want you to tell me what you thought you were good at."

"... shouldn't you be telling me this? You have the fancy sheet with the conclusions?" Marty makes a face. Sometimes he really doesn't get it what Hetty's plans are.

"This is a matter of self-evaluation, too, Mr. Deeks. Something I find very important in any situation of life. We have to be aware of our deficiencies as well as our strengths," Hetty explains. "So, what do you think were you good at?"

"... dunno," Marty shrugs helplessly. He honestly felt like he did nothing good at all on this test, but who wants to say that out loud, _right_?

"Mr. Deeks," Hetty argues in a grave voice. She knows that he likes to hide his light under the bushel, to say the least – and one has to make the effort to push Marty to the positive aspects at times. The teenager sucks in a deep breath, thinking about it, before he answers, "Okay, uhm... I... I think I was decent in math, except for the part where they asked for formulas and all... I didn't know them, coz we didn't have them back when I was in school, so I either tried to calculate them somehow, or I didn't."

"Carry on," Hetty nods.

"... Language I also found... okay... I liked the word fields and those anagrams. And when you got an extract from a text and were supposed to comment on it," Marty nods, a small smile on his face. Now thinking about it... those were the parts he actually found enjoyable, but Marty perfectly forgot about them over his disappointment for the many gaps he felt within him thanks to having missed out on so much of school. It's curious how fast the negative thoughts overlay the good. It seems that G and Nate are making a case in point when they say that Marty has to see the positive aspects more clearly to push the dark ones away.

"Just go on," Hetty encourages him.

"That's all," Marty shrugs.

"And what do you think was more difficult for you?" Hetty questions.

"The rest?" Marty suggests sarcastically, but Hetty only rewards him with a warning tone once again, "Mr. Deeks."

"Okay, so... I didn't know much about history, coz I didn't have that for long. So anything above the Founding Fathers or so I just didn't learn about... the math part I already said. I didn't read the books on that list and I don't know what they want from me with the rhyme schemes and all. I totally sucked at chemistry coz I didn't have that at all back at my school. Biology I guess would've been okay if I had known what the hell they wanted from me with the classifications and all... and social studies I never really had before, so may have been that I got a few lucky shots at that, but I don't know," Marty explains.

"Thank you very much for the honesty," Hetty smirks at him. "So now, you were absolutely correct about your strengths being language and math, but I may tell you that in the higher math you also did really well, exceptionally well given that you didn't attend school for four years. History and natural sciences will become our prime concern here because there is just some facts you have to get down, but again... there's absolutely no shame in that. Most students your age hate those subjects anyways and are therefore lousy in them. The social studies, however, were one of your greatest strengths, right after language and math."

Marty has to try hard not to gape, "But I never..."

"I know that you didn't have that. Yet, you intuitively picked mostly the right ones," Hetty tells him. "So, you see, you're a lot better than what was actually estimated of you, Mr. Deeks. Normal would have been that you would make it forty to fifty percent on the mere knowledge level of the facts, so your principal let me know beforehand. Yet, you made it sixty-five. So you did better than we could have guessed. When it comes to logical thinking and creativity, you are actually above average."

"So not book-smart after all," Marty shrugs.

"More book-smart than estimated and a lot more normal-smart than you give yourself credit for, Mr. Deeks," Hetty corrects him.

"It's just odd. When I filled that out, I thought I totally flunked it," Marty admits.

"Tests will do that to you, I fear," Hetty smirks.

"... so what do we make of that now?" Marty grimaces.

"Quite simple," Hetty shrugs. "We will put our primary focus on the history and science part, and of course we will have you introduced to arts and music the same way, if only just to make _me_ happy, because I find them both very entreating. Language, math, and social studies will be secondary in the catching up. You will be very fast at going on normal schedule with the latter. It's just the history and science that will have the catching-up before we come back to normal routine."

"That's gonna be a lot of work," Marty nods.

"It will be, that's most certainly true," Hetty replies.

"... I hope I don't mess up all over again, though," Marty exhales.

"How did you mess up, Mr. Deeks?" Hetty blinks at him, to which he answers, "With school. I mean, G and I... we talked this out and I know I don't have to blame myself, it's just that I... I want to show him that I want it, coz I _really_ want it. I know that most kids are cheerful when they don't have to go to school when they are sick or so. To me it was hell not to go. I liked school, at least for studying, you know. Because not always did I like the teachers and students. I really wanna be a good student, show him that I... you know... that I work for this as much as he does. G does so much for me, you all do."

"Mr. Deeks, it's honorable of you to think like that, but Mr. Callen does not expect you to try extra-hard just to prove your will to him. You can't help it that you missed out on school that much. And you can't help it that you need some time to catch up on that. Neither can you help it that this is challenging and sometimes overwhelming. Mr. Callen knows that," Hetty assures him in a soft voice.

"... I honestly don't mean it like that. It's just that... uhm... he's always so proud of me and tries to encourage me to... stick out? It's just that all the things he praises me for... I don't find them anything great, at all. Seriously. I just don't. Maybe I have a different view or so, but... to me it just isn't anything great. Still G praises me for it, as do the others, as do _you_, but I don't get it. To me... you praise a kid for... for things like achievements in school. That's what I think you should be proud of – and that confuses me," Marty admits.

"You want Mr. Callen to be proud of you?" Hetty questions.

"I know he is, but I want him to be proud of me for something that at least I consider... normal?" Marty shrugs.

"Oh, Mr. Deeks, being good at what everyone else is good at... is _so_ boring!" Hetty snorts.

"... boring? I think it's cool to get all aces on tests," Marty argues.

"And I find it... _cool_... to recognize a pickup just by the sound," Hetty argues. "Or this."

She hands him the second part of the folder.

"The cognitive ability part you gave me?" Marty tilts his head at her.

"In fact," Hetty smirks.

"What about it? Did I manage to get minus points, is that it?" Marty huffs jokingly.

"Far from that, Mr. Deeks. If you took a closer look at it, you'd see that you got almost everything right," Hetty argues.

"Are you serious?" Marty knits his eyebrows at her. How did _that_ happen?

"Of course I am," Hetty insists.

"Wow, didn't think you could make so many lucky guesses," Marty shakes his head as he glances at the test.

"Mr. Deeks, this is not just lucky guessing you did, you knew the answers – and you know that," Hetty argues.

"Well, maybe. I don't know. Then perhaps I'm good at logic, but that's nothing you find as a school subject in High School," Marty shrugs.

"Because it's something you cannot teach. It's something you either have, or you don't. And you, Mr. Deeks, you have it," Hetty smiles at him.

"So... what do I make of it?" Marty frowns.

"That there's lots of work to do, but also a lot to build on," Hetty tells him with a smirk. " We just have to make sure that we act on your strengths to work on your deficiencies. And that is something your tutor or whoever will pay special attention to also. Then, so you can believe me, there is no holding back for you, Mr. Deeks."

"Thanks," Marty smiles at her.

"You're very welcome. So now, since Mr. Callen is still looking for a tutor, we will put the rather difficult things on a hold and do something you can do without the aid of an expert. So I'd say we return to the old game?" she suggests.

"And the old game is?" Marty knits his eyebrows at her curiously. Hetty takes out a new book, _Great Expectation_s, as it turns out, and a bunch of logic games. Only God knows where she hides those things, or where she finds the time to get them in the first place.

"_That_ is the old game," she smirks. Marty's eyes almost glitter with enthusiasm at the prospect of not only literature, but also the logic games. "Then I shall leave you to yourself. If there is anything, you know where to find me, Mr. Deeks."

"Thanks, Hetty," Marty smirks as he takes up the first logic game and starts to work on it. Hetty grins to herself as she makes her way back over to her own desk. She settles down in her chair and grabs a stamp from the table to press on the folder in which Marty's tests are. She takes out the first part and leaves it on the table while the second remains in the folder. After that she opens one of the drawers to put the folder inside, which now reads "Confidential". She closes the drawer and locks it before she twists around in her chair with a satisfied grin on her lips.


	34. Facing the Past & Planning A Future

Author's Note: Hello everyone, thanks for reading and reviewing, and even at the risk of repeating myself, I'm so incredibly sorry that I just don't find the time and nerves to update regularly lately. My head is not working properly thanks to university-madness... and that doesn't help my writing in the least.

Either way, I still hope that this chapter will make up for some of it. I want to get down to Marty's story a bit more. I guess some of you were actually waiting for more information, which is supposed to be initiated hereafter. And I can only assure you that the gap's almost filled and we get down to the next big chunk to work through. So... stay tuned or... I don't know, just stick with me a while longer so that I can present you with a hopefully smooth transition from one stage to the next.

As always, reviews are more than welcome and very much appreciated.

Read, review, and hopefully enjoy ;)

* * *

After a long day of work, Callen and Marty are more than glad to finally come home to the apartment. For Callen it was especially strenuous today, after they had to chase down three criminals at once, so it was lots of running, shooting, and some explosions along the way, the usual troubles of an NCIS agent. Marty, however, is ever since very busy with his studies, something Hetty has an eagle's eye on, though the teenager turned out to be a very enthusiastic student. Well, except for when he gets distracted by the sound of the waves in the distance or just some lights dancing along the ceiling. As Callen realized, there are just those moments when his younger brother's mind wanders some other place. To where? G has no clue, but he is fine with that for as long as he sees a smile creeping up Marty's lips. Shall he dream of some specters of light for a few minutes if that makes him smile only just once, so the older brother thinks.

The teenager works his way through the extra-work he has to do to catch up on the years he missed out on, but Marty seems very determined. Callen caught the boy more than once even late at night reading science books or working on formulas and equations. Even though G then plays the big brother and tells him to go to sleep, of course... yet, Marty also likes to read with the blanket over his head, something G also did when he was still a child. It's odd how you can share common traits even if you didn't grow up together. It never ceases to amaze Callen just how close you can be to a person you don't know for long.

"Okay, so what do you call for? Microwave or _actual_ cooking?" Callen asks, glancing at the fridge, running a hand over the back of his head.

Marty peeks his head in, "Microwave. I'm still afraid of your cooking."

"Hey, I'm improving," Callen insists.

"I can't eat scrambled eggs for the rest of my life. I mean, okay, I could, but... I don't want to," Marty grimaces. And only God knows that it took many, many, many eggs until his older brother managed some decent scrambled eggs. To the day Marty asks himself how someone manages to burn them to the degree that they are actually pitch-black. Even though G's attempts and tries always make him smile. He just loves it that his brother is not afraid to make a fool of himself in front of him. To Marty that is a sign of care and trust. And the teenager loves the feeling of care and trust. It's warm, comforting, humming like a soothing lullaby.

"I really don't come around learning that, huh?" Callen grimaces.

"There's worse than takeaway, for as long as you throw something healthy into the mix at some point," Marty shrugs.

"There is worse?" G smirks.

"Yeah, your pancakes," Marty snickers before he pulls his head away. Callen laughs as he opens the fridge to pull out some frozen food that looks at least halfway healthy. He puts it in the microwave before he joins his younger brother in the living room. Marty is on the couch, watching his telenovela – as always around the time.

"Are you already finished with all the homework?" G asks as he settles down next to him. Marty nods his head, though his eyes are fixed on the screen, "Yep. And I did the online test thing. I think it went alright."

"Why are you watching this show again? Do you even speak Spanish?" Callen blinks at the screen.

"A bit," Marty shrugs. "I mean, I understand most of it. I picked up some on the streets. Though I can only speak a few sentences with the worst of accents, but I get the plot."

"But this show's just cheap and... awful," the older brother argues. The actors are laypeople, the settings are so obviously made of cardboard that it hurts the eye and very often even the microphones dangle into the frame. Not to mention the bad acting skills, the outrageous plot and... just about everything.

"Hey, nothing against the show," Marty pouts. "It's so amazing because it sucks."

"Oh, so it's this meta-level again?" Callen huffs.

"No, it's just awful – and that makes it just soooo funny," Marty smiles happily.

"You have a _funny_ kind of humor," Callen chuckles.

"Well, at least I get a good laugh," Marty shrugs.

"Right, and for as long as you like it, that's fine with me," G pats the couch as he gets up.

"And by the way, if you just started to watch it with Kensi and I, you'd be hooked, too, trust me. This is viral," Marty snickers.

"Let's make a deal. Once you ace the first test on one of the catch-up subjects, I will start watching it," Callen bargains. After all, Nate told him that he is supposed to keep Marty motivated, especially for his studies.

"Fine, deal!" Marty replies excitedly. G ruffles through the younger brother's curls as he turns away from the couch. Marty grabs his head instantly, smoothing the curls back to where he wants them to be, pouting, "Don't mess with the hair!"

"Hetty says you need a haircut," Callen sticks out his tongue.

"She did not. And even if she did, that's not happening," Marty argues.

"I remember you saying a while back that you didn't care about your looks," Callen mocks.

"And I don't. I just... like my hair the way it is," Marty insists.

Callen snickers as he takes the food out of the microwave. It amazes him just how easy it is to... simply talk. And be it the utmost trivial things like telenovelas, homework, or haircuts. Suddenly, those are all treasured moments for Callen. To have such conversation with his brother as though it was the most normal thing on earth, because it is normal to them, it is now. Even if from an outsider's point of view, their kind of normalcy is anything but normal, and the way they were united was not normal either. Thinking about it, it's truly a miracle how they worked through this abnormal reunion all the way to this routine, to this kind of intimacy, closeness, proximity. While at the same time, Callen couldn't care less about anyone's perspective on their life. Because it's theirs.

"Marty, c'mon, dinner's ready," G calls out. The teenager is up almost instantly and joins him in the kitchen. They enjoy, _more or less_, their meal – and even if the taste is not that outstanding, the brothers enjoy at least each other's presence while eating the food. However, as they sit there in silence, both suddenly grow somewhat uncomfortable. Marty nervously bites his lower lip once the two are finished and clean the dishes. And G, also, runs the hand over the back of his head more often now. Once the dishes are back in the cabinets, the brothers make their way back into the living room. Either one wants to sit down, but then stops in the motion and both say simultaneously, "I wanted to talk to you about something."

"What?" Callen blinks at his younger brother, who copies him, "What?"

They let out a nervous chuckle before they fall back on the couch. If one of the others had been present, they probably would have gone on musing about how the two tend to do things similarly, and at the same time also.

"Oh, ugh... I'm sorry, you go first," Callen tells him, nervously running his hands over his thighs.

"Really? I mean, it can wait," Marty argues.

"You go ahead, unless you don't want to go ahead," G offers. He knows that Marty still struggles at times to start a conversation or lead to a topic that he finds touchy. Nate told the older brother to make sure to encourage Marty to speak up and take the lead. Because that will eventually help him gain control also. And Marty needs control so that he can manage his life. And that is all Callen wants for his little brother, that he can live his life again.

"Uhm... okay, so... Nate's... I had discussion with Nate a while back... I mean, I do all the time, but it was about something specific this time, as in... well, you know... ugh," Marty stops, annoyed at himself. He practiced this. He had it planned. Marty went over this conversation again and again, trying to make sure that he found the right words, the right opening. He played this scenario through, but now he can't even remember what they had for lunch, and that was about five minutes ago. The teenager hates this feeling of losing the control, this scaffold that Marty hoped would hold him for what he is about to say, let out of the box.

"Can I start again?" Marty asks, chuckling nervously.

"You start as often as you want," the older brother replies reassuringly.

"Okay, so... uhm... well, as I said, I had discussion with Nate about a topic and... we... discussed and... I already said that... and... Wow, I really suck at this," Marty grimaces. "You know, I actually went that over inside my head and it sounded fine. Now I just do gibberish-talk again."

"Take your time. We have plenty," Callen tells him another time, keeping his voice calm and welcoming. Marty eases at the sound of his brother's voice. It grew to be one of the most reassuring things for him over the time they spent together. As though this was a natural way to ground Marty, bring him back to reality, while at the same time offer this sweet kind of escape into a comfort he sometimes fails to gather in reality.

"I... I have an idea," Marty suddenly says, holding up his hand. He gets up from his seat, or rather he jumps to his feet, and walks over to the corner where he put his backpack at. Marty opens it to retrieve his notebook before he sits back down. He flips it open to the right page, or rather the one that he would rather tear out and burn, but Nate said it. You write something down that you hate to transcend it into something good by putting it against all the good things in life. Because there is now more good than bad in Marty's world, or he wants to believe in it.

"Okay, so... ugh, so that you understand, I wrote some notes down, I hope that will help me to... stick to a structure that you can understand. Because my mind's just fuzzy now. And that's not exactly helpful to get a point across," Marty explains, feeling a bit of confidence returning to him. He put down some notes of what he is willing to say and how to say it. The teenager hoped that practicing it would make it easier to tell his brother about those things, about those dots and lines morphing into letters, then words, phrases, meanings, ideas, and eventually reality – a much darker reality than the one Marty wants to be in or dares to believe he lives in now.

"Alright, so if I read off the page, that's not because I don't pay attention to you or so, it's just because it helps me... keep the structure," Marty goes on.

"You do whatever you find works best for you," Callen assures him. Marty takes another moment to focus, gain clarity, remove all those cobwebs and tatters of mist obscuring his senses.

"... Nate mentioned to me that you asked about... our father," Marty goes on. Callen blinks, trying to keep the surprise and shock to himself. He honestly didn't see it coming that Marty would approach him about this. No, he actually believed that this would be something they would come to in therapy, after _a lot _more work from Nate's side. So to have Marty coming to him to discuss this topic is not only a surprise, but something that catches G perfectly off-guard.

"Yeah," Callen brings out, trying to gain control over his voice again. He wants to stay confident, calm, for Marty's sake, or else, so G fears, Marty will just withdraw. And that is one of those pieces that Callen wants to know about... even though he gets this sickening feeling already that this is something he rather wouldn't know about.

But you have to meet your demons to move past them. And if that means Callen has to meet one of Marty's demons to chase the devil away, so be it. G is more than willing to get out his gun and shoot the demon dead if it has to be.

"... well, I could have guessed, I mean... it stands to reason that you have, like... questions. I honestly get that," Marty goes on. Callen can't help the frown that his brother, even at this moment, shows understanding and empathy for _him,_ when in fact it's about one of Marty's personal demons they are about to meet.

"But I will give you this fair warning: I can't... talk about _everything_ just yet. There is just... there is just so much that I can and... and I hope that's okay. I mean... I know that you want to know everything and... and," Marty stammers, but Callen interrupts him in a soft voice, "Marty, we talked about this. We have all the time in the world to figure this out. You talk about what you're ready for, the rest... you leave where it is until you think it's time. No harm done. I won't push you into anything you don't want to say. And you don't have to push yourself either, not for my sake. Alright?"

Marty nods to himself, allowing the soft words of reassurance to flood him, calm the waves raging within him. He is talking to G. And G understands. Because he cares. Because he loves him. It's okay, because it's G.

"Okay... okay, so...," Marty bites his lower lip, sucking in some much-needed air, before he goes on, his eyes on the notebook. "I know from the others that you were always in search for your family. And I guess it's not farfetched that this involved looking for your father also. So, I understand that you want to know this man. And I get it that it must be confusing for you that I don't talk about him. But I don't do this to hurt you or because I don't trust you. I do that... I do that because I care."

Callen blinks at him. Marty meets his eyes briefly, but then quickly looks at his notes again, his hands shaking lightly, "I do that _because_ I care about you. I don't want you hurt and... and this would hurt you, I think."

"What would hurt me?" Callen asks, his voice no more than a whisper. That is when Marty fully meets his eyes, blue pools collapsing into crushing waves.

"Because you wanted a dad. And for as long as he was that nebulous figure in the background, he could be... a dad, for you," Marty explains, his voice quivering. "And once I start to... to say what I am about to say... you will... you will hate him. And I just... I just couldn't bring myself to it before to... destroy that picture you may have had of your father. Because no one wants that for a father, trust me."

Callen grasps the teenager's lower arm to offer support, even though he gets the strong feeling that this is futile. There is no reassurance for something that starts with "you will hate him for that". Marty know his brother pretty well already, so Callen knows himself. So if Marty believes that this will change his perspective on their father, then he has a point.

"What did he do?" Callen asks, trying to keep his voice calm and composed.

"To give it a name... he beat us up, my mom and I," Marty says, his voice a whisper. Callen bites his lower lip. He knew at some point that this would be one of these things Marty kept him from, but a part of G hoped that this was not true and... that it simply was something else. That Marty and their father just didn't get along, that he left, that his parents got divorced. And honestly? G would even take their father's death over the revelation that he beat up Marty. _His_ Marty.

So yes, Marty is probably right in his predictions. Callen feels the anger boiling deep within him, a searing fire that makes his features harden.

"It was... it was _bad._ At first he only did it to my mom, when I was still too little and... and a few times I was sure he'd kill her," Marty says, now reading off the page again. He tries hard not to bring back the blood and bruises to his mind, so they may not fill the white pages of the book in his lap. His mother's blood. His own. The dread. The tears. This desperation that Marty only felt during this time, a desperation that was even worse than that he felt in the ring. Because it was someone of his blood, because it was someone of his own. Someone who was supposed to love him, but did not. Someone who was supposed to protect him, but did not. Someone Marty couldn't escape from – and that even though there were no bars in front of him, as they were in the ring. The desperation, so Marty figures, always came from the lack of those bars. They were invisible, but still there some other way. To others, it looked like their house was a normal house. It didn't have bars. It didn't have chains, even if the chains Marty felt on himself by that time were heavier than any of those he had in the ring. _He_ knew he was in chains, he knew there were bars, they just didn't break the light, and that is why no one saw them or... simply didn't bother to see them. Sometimes words and actions can hold you down more than can actual matter, wood, iron, flesh. And the realization that this nothing held Marty down so painfully made him so truly desperate.

"He drank too much because he was simply unhappy with his life or so. I never tried to understand that because... I didn't want to understand that there is seemingly something that can make you hate life so much that you take it out on those you're supposed to love," Marty tells Callen, his voice betraying him. "He kept us small. He told mom that he'd kill me if she dared to leave him. And he threatened to do the same to her if I dared to talk to anyone about this."

Callen tightens his grip on the teenager, fighting any urge not to scream and destroy the furniture. Marty really seems to be right. Callen already hates that man to the blood, without ever having come face to face with him.

"I was just... so desperate. Each day I thought that this could be... our last day," Marty croaks. That fear was so existential, so raw that he honestly misses the words to describe it. To be forced into a cage, and a thousand muzzles aimed at your head at the slightest of movements. Marty felt suffocated, as though all movement was taken away from him. As though life was just about standing still and enduring the pain, the blows.

"I ran off a few times, but... but never for long, just a few days when it was too bad," Marty goes on, swallowing thickly.

"Why didn't you, though, I mean, run away from that?" Callen grimaces.

"I couldn't leave mom to him," is the simple reply. That is what always brought Marty back home, even if it wasn't home to him. When he was at the beach, watching the waves, with his backpack next to him, ready to take off to... New York, New Orleans, just something with "New" in its name for a _new_ start, Marty suddenly saw his mother walking along the coastline, even if she wasn't. Whereas Marty knew it was no more than a figment, a stripe of smoke, it was his mother who always brought him back to this house, this life. Because no matter how much hatred he felt for her, Marty loved his mother that unconditionally that he couldn't bring himself to leave her alone and to sure death. There are just bonds that run so deep that they make you forget all the pain that bond may cause you. Perhaps it was about the many times Marty remembers she took a blow for him, or how she stood in front of him protectively so that his father didn't get to him, or how she'd sing him lullabies and apologize for being this weak that pushed him into the decision that he loved this woman although he hated her, while his father... he just hated.

Because you don't decide whom you love. You just love. And you hate whom you hate. And sometimes, a person happens to be the object of both.

"When I was ten, my best friend Ray gave me a gun," Marty reads off the page again.

"What?" Callen blinks at him.

"Ray is a bit older than me and he... he always dealt around with shady people. He was even more of a troublemaker than I was... His dad was an asshole, too. We went to different schools, but lived in the same neighborhood. We used to say that we were just two poor devil-brothers in spirit... he knew just how bad it went with my father, so he gave me this gun. I don't know where he had it from. I didn't ask either. He told me to keep it hidden and to use it if dad does something...," Marty explains, his eyes suddenly drifting to the ground. "You can't imagine how reassuring that was... and I can't imagine just how reassured I felt at this, because it was anything but normal."

Marty lets out a huff. Who finds it nice or good or reassuring to have a gun to shoot his father with? Who finds solace in the weight of a gun, at the age of ten? This feeling, or the memory of this feeling, was probably one of the reasons that pushed Marty into hating his violent side. Because he was afraid of himself for finding that gun in his hand so tempting, the thought of killing a person, and be it the meanest guy in the entire world. The wish to end another person's life was enough to make Marty believe in his father's words that he was a cursed child after all and that he was worth nothing. Marty didn't want to be anything worth if that was supposed to be worth it.

"You had it to protect yourself and your mom," Callen argues. He knows that Marty still blames himself for hurting other people, training with Sam or not. Marty improved, but he is not nearly where he perhaps ought to be to feel comfortable in his own skin, and to accept his skills.

"That was the idea... Well, and then came _that night_, a year later... when all went down... dad just got dead drunk and... and eventually he wavered his muzzle around... it was a mess," his voice trails off. Even if Marty can't put the feelings into words, he can still see those images, bright and clear. Maybe the time comes that he can tell Callen really everything, but for the moment, Marty rather refers to this from an outsider's perspective, as though he is just the onlooker, someone who isn't part of this, is separated from these happenings, this past.

Callen just stares at him, unable to speak.

"That is when I got Ray's revolver from my stash and ran back down as he shoved mom around, so hard that she fell down and hit her head on the coffee table. She was out cold. He wavered the muzzle at me and that is when I just...," Marty bites his lower lip. "... shot him."

"Did he... did you...," Callen brings out, but Marty shakes his head. And that is when he is right back in it, right back in the past, no longer the onlooker, but participant, not layman but protagonist. "I only hit him in the shoulder. There was just so much blood. And... he yelled at me, but... I just saw the blood. I didn't even realize that he grabbed me by the ankle to make me fall, right in the blood. I kicked him again and scrambled away. I... I aimed my gun at him again and... I was _that_ close to really shooting him dead, G. I had my finger on the trigger. I was just _that_ close. And when I realized what I was about to do... I just... I just took the muzzle from him and ran into the yard. I didn't even think about mom or what he'd do. I just ran and... and cowered on the ground, holding the gun close to me. With all his blood on me... So much blood."

"What... what happened after that?" Callen asks.

"The neighbors seemingly heard the gunshot and called the police. It's just that when they came, they found me sitting in the garden, crying, with the revolver still wavering in my hand, the muzzle next to me, over with blood. I should've buried that goddamn thing and said that someone else shot him coz he was an ass! But _no,_ I just... my head just shut down. I don't even know what the officers did or told me. All I remember is that there were ambulance cars and... and that I ended up in a foster house for a couple of days. I don't even know the color of the building anymore. And that is something I usually always remember... That time is such a blur... The next thing I know is that officers questioned me about the gun. About _my_ gun and where I got it from," Marty goes on.

"What did you tell them?" G questions.

"That it was mine," Marty shrugs.

"But it was Ray's," G argues.

"He's given it to me. And... and I couldn't do that to Ray. He had just gotten out," Marty shakes his head.

"What do you mean?" the older brother frowns.

"He managed to convince his mom to run away. They hid from his dad. If I had told police that I got it from Ray, they would have tried to find them, and then they would have questioned his dad and he would have gotten back to Ray and his mom, maybe. I couldn't do that to my best friend, could I? Well, so I said it was mine, that I had gotten it from some dealer downtown... I think they believed that...," Marty exhales. "Little time later, I found myself in a courtroom... or was it...? Looked like one... Our case was discussed and... and suddenly it was all about how I got this gun and how I shot my father..."

"You did so in self-defense," Callen argues with a grimace.

"Let's just say that they didn't quite believe it," Marty exhales.

"They usually always believe the child," Callen insists. This must be a joke.

"I guess it was coz of the gun. I honestly don't remember much of the hearings. It's all just a blur. Other things I can recall with ease, but that is just... I guess Nate would have the psychological term for it, but in essence, I just know that no one believed me because of that gun and because of some minor crimes that I committed before," Marty explains.

"What minor crimes?" the older brother frowns.

"I stole stuff a few times... but that was really out of desperation when dad spent all money on booze and not... food. Well, I guess to the judge this just added to the picture of me as a rebel or so," Marty tells him. And only God knows how bad he felt for stealing things. It was against anything Marty believed in. He just didn't know another way out.

"But eventually, dad acted as though he wanted to protect me, like _seriously,_ protect me, and said that I didn't mean it and that this is all just a huge misunderstanding. That we can resolve this within the family, _blah-blah_. This went back and forth for a while... dunno... by the end of the day, the judge decided that it was an accident. My dad was charged for not locking up the weapons properly. I was a minor, so I wasn't charged either, obviously. They ordered us to do family therapy or so. _As if_. Case closed, everyone happy, or so they thought," Marty shrugs with a snort.

"But... but I don't get that. If you said that he hurt you, then they would have had to investigate," Callen argues.

"That's what happens when your mother chickens out of her statement against her own husband last second, because she loves daddy still and asks you why you won't let it go," Marty grumbles angrily. As much as he loved his mother, Marty hated her for that, for a long time he _truly_ hated her for that and didn't want to or couldn't bring himself to look her in the eye anymore. When Marty always decided to return to her, she turned her back on him when it counted. When she said she just didn't know how to get help, his mother failed to see that they could have gotten help if she had finally opened her mouth, tell the truth in front of that judge, but instead she had just sat there, said nothing and only pondered on how they are a family and that they can work on this. That it was her fault, but not her husband's or Marty's. Even though this excuse was wearing thin for the boy back then. If it was her fault, then why didn't she change anything, when she really had the chance to? What does it matter if you take the blame if you don't take the responsibility?

"But... but the evidence...," Callen mutters, to which Marty just shakes his head. That is another scar that hurts so badly that he can't open it yet. Because that is when he was not just hurt by people close to him, but was also left behind by... the rest of the world.

Callen bites his lower lip. He knows he shouldn't and can't push Marty the way he does, but he would like to. To understand this. Maybe it's as Nate told him and that this is the agent within him calling out loud to solve the mystery, solve the case and punish the bad guy. But that doesn't seem to work. No, he knows it can't work that way. Because Marty is not a case, neither is his past. It's his life story, it's more than the information the team receives for the whiteboards or in those neat paper folders. They are only a small fragment of what makes up that person they investigate. And Marty is so, so much more than this fragment. So G swallows down his urge to question more, but simply takes what he gets, painful or not.

"I was put into a temporary foster family for a few weeks. The judge said that it would be best to start the family therapy or so. Which was a joke, of course. And that is when I ran away... I just couldn't take this anymore," Marty shakes his head. That was the moment that changed something within him, perhaps a new kind of determination or just a pang of madness. Marty doesn't know. All he knows is that suddenly, he didn't have this figment of his mother anymore. And even if it made him sad and he missed her, through all the hatred he felt for her, it didn't make Marty waver in his decision the way it had done all the while before. When he ran away that night, Marty ran and didn't look back, not even once.

"Was the foster family that bad?" Callen asks cautiously, though he already knows the answer, just how far that goes is still a drifting cloud to him.

"They were also friends of my father, so I believe. I just remember a phone call the foster father's had with dad and they sounded... _familiar._ Not that I have proof for this, of course... so I didn't like them for that already. But then... that bastard started beating me around, too. I don't even know why he did. At some point I really believed this was all just an evil plot, seriously," Marty snorts. "I knew no other way out of this. It was... I don't know. I had to get away from that. I mean, police didn't care about anything but that gun, seemingly. That judge didn't care either. The lawyers didn't bother. I come into a foster family who I think were friends with my dad. My mom wouldn't turn against my father, not even for me. The neighbors never cared for more than the noises we made. At school no one gave a shit and those who did just got rebuffed by the principal, who gave a fuck. I just didn't have anywhere to turn to. So..."

"You made a run for it," Callen nods.

"Mhm. That's when I ended up in the streets, yeah...," Marty exhales. "And I haven't seen him since. And that's good."

"And your mother?" Callen asks cautiously, but Marty holds up his hands shakily, "Sorry, that is something I can't... yet."

"Okay," G nods.

"Well, so... you see... I... I hate him for what he did to us... but... I also hate him for that he is your father, too. I don't want a dad for you like that. I don't wish such a dad upon my worst enemy, a dad who is no dad, but just... this," Marty brings out. He hastily wipes the back of his hand over his eyes against the tears welling up behind his eyelids. Callen grasps Marty's hand to offer reassurance, offer warmth, something, anything.

"I don't want one like that for you either," the older brother manages to croak, his voice raw from the emotions overtaking him.

"That's one of the reasons why I couldn't bring myself to tell you until now. I didn't want to... destroy that picture of your father... or whatever. I know what it did to me to realize that a dad is not always the guy who plays catch with you or who takes you to baseball games. I didn't want that for you, I still don't, but... but... maybe now you understand why I don't want to talk about it, let alone think. I... I don't want to go back to that, ever. It took me about everything to get away from this part of my life and move on to my next, even if that wasn't the bright side of life either, let's be honest. But I just couldn't stay there, and... I don't want to go back to that topic," Marty explains. He wants to bury this Pandora Box somewhere deep in the ground and simply let it decay.

"Not even to get this clarified? I mean... not that I mean to say that you should or so, it's just... you say the hearing was not done properly. We could still charge him for that... if... if you wanted," Callen argues. It's about child abuse, and maybe also about a corrupt judge. They could clarify this, right? And Callen would perhaps get an opportunity to kick that bastard's ass all the way to the moon and back.

"No!" Marty cries out with a force that surprises them both. " I don't want him back in my life, not even to get him turned in."

"Why?" Callen questions.

"I don't even know if he is alive anymore or... where he lives now. And I want it to stay that way. I don't care... if he's alive or not, for as long as he stays away from me, which he did. I know I can't and shouldn't forget about my past. Nate's drilled that into my head by now. And... even if I still struggle... I can deal with those problems for therapy, yes, but... but I don't want to make _this_ reality again. Back in that court... others told me what reality looked like. That I was the one who misunderstood. That I was just seeing things. They defined my reality. I don't want that ever again. If I grant him more space again, he will define my present, and it's enough how much of my past he defined. Or what the judge defined. Or police. Or mom. I don't want to live the life someone else forced upon me. I want to live the life I live now. I won't ever allow another person to define me again," Marty shakes his head. He let that happen before, and a part of him died at that. Marty died a little each time in the ring, but that was for different reasons. At this, he died a lot more, or at least so the teenager believes. Marty lost something, they ripped it away from him, this sense that he is at least... _eligible._ That he can speak up for himself. That he has a voice. And that this voice is being heard – taken into consideration, and not just a statement in a file no one reads. It hurt Marty so much once he realized that it's possible that other people are capable of setting the rules for him, of making him... _him._ A him he didn't want to be and a him that he hated for its dependence, for its meager state of mind and existence. Marty is simply done living the life anyone else defined other than himself. If he understood only one thing from this therapy, from this new life he lives now, then it is that he is indeed eligible to his own life – that Marty can define the person he wants to be. And he doesn't want to be his past him anymore. He wants to be the present him, towards a future him.

Callen searches his brother's eyes – and that is when he understands, well, maybe he doesn't really _understand,_ because he doesn't know everything yet, but G understands _that_ Marty feels that way. And that should be enough. He... gets it.

"Okay," G says simply. Marty glances up from his notebook to meet his eyes again. And that is when Callen simply snakes his arm around the teenager and pulls him close to his chest, leaning his chin on his head. Because words just don't suffice to describe it or fix it or simply capture it, those raw feelings, the hurt, the pain, and the faint glimmer of hope somewhere in-between. Sometimes a gesture says more than a thousand words, means more than any artful expression, manages to bring clarity over something that either one doesn't understand.

And Marty allows himself to get lost in that embrace – because it honestly makes him believe that what Nate and Callen say is right. That sharing this pain is _okay._ That the world doesn't end for him if he allows those barriers to fall, for as long as they fall in front of the right people, those people Marty knows will help him pick up the pieces. That this is the present and everything in the past is just tatters of smoke now. He can feel it through the warmth and love of that embrace alone.

After a while, they let go, their eyes meeting without intruding, but just welcoming.

Callen then glances at the wall ahead as his feelings of affection for Marty turn red in the anger at the person who caused his younger brother such pain that Marty, until now, didn't even find the courage to verbalize it. G balls the right fist, hiding it under the pillow so that the teenager doesn't see it. He doesn't want to give the younger brother the feeling that he is the cause, which is what Marty always believes, sadly. However, in the light of this revelation, this habit makes much more sense to Callen now – if your father constantly tells you that you are at fault, then... it's not farfetched that you adopt that perspective and actually blame yourself for everything after a while.

"G?" Marty speaks up hesitantly. Callen snaps his eyes away from the wall and back to his brother, who tilts his head at him, "You... you mentioned that you wanted to talk to me about something also?"

"Right... oh, yeah, right!" G brings out, actually glad that Marty seemingly didn't notice his suddenly risen distress.

"I mean... I know I kinda dropped a bomb here, but...," Marty goes on, but G interrupts him, "No, no, that's... I mean... but you're okay? We can also talk about this later if you want."

"No, I'd like to focus on something else, actually. You know, to counter this here? I guess it doesn't always have to be the notebook," Marty tells him – actually meaning it. The way he figures, he can also hush those dark spots of his past away by simply living the ten good things that are supposed to help him gain hope again.

"Well, if you want to... I just have to get something to show you along with it. I'll be back in a moment, alright?" G tells him. Marty nods silently, looking calmer and feeling calmer than either one expected him to. Callen quickly makes his way into the bathroom and shuts the door hastily. G strides over to the cabinet with the towels, grabs the top one and throws it into the bathtub with all his might. He would rather punch the mirror or the wall, or break the vase on the window sill, but that would startle and therefore upset Marty, and G can't have him any more upset about this issue than he must be anyways. So the older brother confines himself to something that doesn't make noises, but still offers his body the opportunity to simply move, throw something, throw that anger away. G just got confirmation for something that he feared for in a while now. Something he hoped that would turn out to be wrong, a figment, no more, but now it's reality.

That person is his father. His father is the kind of person who beats up his own family. It's so much more of a blow once the confirmation comes, once it's brought into reality. Before, it was just a sense of foreboding, perhaps, but now... reality is so real that it hurts.

Callen takes the entire pile of towels next and tosses them into the bathtub, one after one, trying very hard to imagine that it's stones or lead balls and that the bathtub is that bastard. Once the towels are piled up in the tub, Callen lets out a shaky breath, turning around to the sink to lean on it heavily. He looks at his reflection in the mirror.

Marty was right when he guessed that G had a certain picture of his father, which seems utterly pathetic now, of course. He dreamed of a hero, a secret agent, but now that guy is just the man who dared to hurt what grew to be Callen's center of life, of his very being.

G never understood how the assholes in the ring could do what they did. It terrified him that it was indeed human beings who did that to children, who crossed that line. And it hurt Callen so much in his chest once he learned that this is what Marty was put through, that he suffered inhuman treatment at the hands of humans. But he understands even less how someone who knows Marty, someone who had the... the _honor_ to be his parent, can still go ahead and do the inhuman, still. Perhaps not the way the ring did, at least Callen hopes, pleads, that it never went down to roofies and whatever else the torment those bastards bred out for children, but still in a way that would scar any child for life.

And now he happens to be the offspring of such a person, such a man. Callen studies his reflection again, wonders if he looks like this man in some way, if he has his eyes, his nose, his hands, his mouth. There are people who say that everything is in the DNA, that they make us... _us._ So does that make him... _him?_ Is that man living within him, somewhere, deep down? Back when he was younger, G actually hoped for that. That there was something that linked him to his past, to his parents, a proof that made him part of a clan he never knew, a secret link, be it the smallest of mannerisms, a turn of the hand, one certain way to roll his eyes, a gesture, a facial expression, something passed on to him.

But now? Now it fills his heart with dread and sorrow, only for the faint chance that there might be something to link him to this bastard other than the DNA. Yet, what is if DNA really determines everything or most of it? What if it plays an important part in the person G is... or will be?

What if he would ever be... _like..._ him? At that thought, Callen slaps himself across the cheek, though, glancing at himself in the mirror sternly. And suddenly, insecurity is replaced by determination.

No. Simply no.

Marty is that man's child also, and he is the kindest person G has ever met. So it can't be in the DNA. And even if it is, Callen hereby makes the promise to himself and to Marty that he would never become like this, no matter what. Nothing could ever make him turn on Marty, hurt him, neglect him. _Nothing._ That won't ever happen. G won't let that happen.

Callen lets out a shaky breath, but then finds himself flooded by that new kind of determination that washes all insecurities, doubts and worries away. He makes his way back into the hallway to his backpack and takes out a folder. With that he walks back into the living room. Marty is still on the sofa, but much to his surprise and much to his delight, looking calm. His posture is not stiff, his eyes are not wandering around the room to find a fixpoint – and apparently, Marty is busy with his journal, which is always the sign for Callen that he is actively working on his problems and is at a stage where it's okay for him.

"Hey there," Callen greets him cautiously. Marty looks up and actually smirks at him, closing the notebook in his lap.

"Hey," he replies. Callen takes his seat next to him, "So... are you okay or...?"

"Yeah... yeah, I think I am, it's a... four now, going down to a three," Marty shrugs. "I mean... I had some time to... prepare. Nate said that would help me. I think it did. Ugh, darn."

"What now?" Callen frowns.

"Now he gets to tell me that he told me so, _again,"_ Marty rolls his eyes. Callen chuckles softly.

"So, what's in that fancy folder?" Marty nods at the light brown folder in his brother's hands.

"In that _fancy folder_ we have what I wanted to talk to you about," Callen begins, smirking nervously. "Apparently also for something Nate will tell me about that he told me so."

Marty snickers.

"Okay, so here I go," Callen grimaces. "Well, after I was stabbed not long ago... I had a lot of discussion with Nate... and I did some thinking on my own, too. Because this experience made me realize just... how things happen, and you don't even see them coming."

"Tell me about it," Marty huffs nervously. No, he is still not over that picture inside his mind of his brother lying there bleeding on the ground – and the many ways in which it tore him apart.

"Well, I'm apparently not... _unbreakable._ Things... just happen," Callen shrugs. Marty nods. Yeah, some things just _happen._ Older brother getting stabbed. Younger brothers getting beaten up by the father or caught in a sex ring. Those things are not pretty. But they happen.

_Shit happens_. As simple and trivial as it sounds, it's true. Some things just happen. And they are out of our control.

"Okay, so in this folder here I have something I know you will reward with a frown if you first hear the word, but I want you to know that I show you this for good reasons," Callen tells him, or rather warns him. He knows that this works best for Marty. At least when it comes to such things. Marty feels less stressed if he knows what is going to come. Then he can mentally prepare and mull this over already before the real conversation takes place.

"This is my last will," Callen goes on. Marty grimaces at him, "I told you that you should stop with the morbid stuff. First you take me to graves, now you show me your last will... this is starting to become a habit."

"This is not morbid, it's security," G argues. "Look, I know that you don't want to talk about these things, or think about them from the start..."

"Yeah, right," Marty snorts. Who wants to think about that, _right?!_

"And I honestly get that, trust me. I would rather not think about this either, but we have to see that my profession is still a dangerous one. It was different before, because I was alone, so I didn't care about what happened to my stuff once I'd be no longer, but that's changed now. Because you're now in my life. And if something happens to me, I want to know you protected and financially secured," Callen tells him in a calm voice.

"Just don't die, then we don't have to think about this," Marty smirks nervously.

"I will surely try, but... some things just happen. I mean, it doesn't even have to be that I die on the job. I... could run in front of a bus also," Callen argues.

"... you have a funny way of reassuring people at times," Marty grimaces.

"You know what I mean. I just want to be on the safe side with you. And Nate told me that I'm supposed to talk to you about this, and I agree. You are part of this and that is why I want to involve you into this last will – and in the process of setting it up," G tells him.

"... okay, even if I don't like the idea, I get it," Marty nods. He knows that he shouldn't fuss about such things all the while, but especially things involving his older brother's safety or... life... make his stomach twist into a tight knot. Marty just can't afford to lose G. That is also why he took so long to come clean to him about their father. Marty is just always afraid that he will lose the people close to him. And to have something about G's death written on paper just gives him the weird feeling that this is therefore bound to happen, sooner than could be estimated. And he is afraid of that.

"So, my idea would be that I tell you what I had in mind – and then we talk about this, okay?" Callen goes on. Marty nods. That sounds reasonable.

"Alright, so as you can see here, in case I die, I'd bequeath all my stuff to you, apartment included," the older brother goes on to explain. Marty blinks at him, "What? The... I'd get the apartment?"

"Well, yes. I thought it would be a good idea so that we are on the safe side that you have a roof. Or you can make arrangements to sell it, whatever you like," Callen shrugs. "Well, the same is true for all my money. It'd all go to you."

Marty gapes at him.

"What?" Callen frowns at him.

"You... want to... give me... all your money...," Marty grimaces.

"I want you to be financially secured, so that you can afford to have your own apartment, or start a business, pay college fees. So you don't have to think about that also. Because sure as hell you'd have other things to worry about if something happens to me."

"But I don't need your money," Marty shakes his head. No, he just needs G. The rest doesn't matter. The teenager never cared about becoming rich. You can be happy with no money in your pocket, so he learned. For as long as you have the people you love in your life, you are the richest person on earth, and that is a kind of wealth no one can take away from you.

"I know that, but I want to know you safe. Money means security, at least it does these days. I mean, you can also just leave it on that bank account. You can give it away to charity. You decide. It'd be your money. I just want you to have a chance to... build up a life on your own," G explains.

"... okay," Marty replies meekly.

"I already opened a bank account for you. This is not necessarily for when I die, but simply a safe bank account for the money you may need to go to college, if you want. Or you can spend it on a road trip, but just not all on comic books and Twinkies, okay?" Callen winks at him.

"Coz that's just what I was gonna do," Marty snorts, trying to hide just how much he feels touched by this gesture. No one ever cared about him that much. Really, no one. Because Callen gives him the feeling that there is a future for him, no, even more. He shows him a way there, paves the way. Thanks to G, Marty dares to believe in a future.

"Alright, but back to this here... there is one other thing that we should talk about. And for that I need your opinion," G tells him.

"And that would be?" Marty frowns.

"Well, if something happens to me before you're adult, we have to think about how you want to live. I mean, you could get emancipation of a minor so that you are... your own boss, live on your own, or... with other kids your age, that's all possible. Or you stay with someone else," G explains. "And if you want, we can think about you staying with one of the team."

"Seriously?" Marty frowns at him.

"What? Yes, of course I'm serious," Callen grimaces. "Or don't you want that?"

"That's not it. I just ask myself if the others know of your... _plan_ here. I mean... then something happens to you and I'm like... '_Hey, G's said that I can live with you. I take the upper bed, thank you_'. That's not very nice," Marty argues.

"You know that the guys care about you, Marty. They'd all gladly take you in. The question is just with whom you'd like to stay," Callen tells him.

"And I just say that and all have to obey me? That sounds weird in my opinion," Marty shakes his head.

"It's not in the least weird. They are the closest thing to family I have. They are the people I trust. And they all adore you, so it's not that outrageous in my opinion. But if you don't want to stay with them, then that's fine also," G replies.

"I love the guys, it's just that... well, okay... let me put it like this: Now let's imagine I decide to stay with one of the guys. And we tell that person – and the others learn, too. Then the rest will think that I don't want to live with them. And the one I do choose... has to live with me," Marty explains.

"No one would ever think like that, I assure you, Marty. Just because you choose to live with one person doesn't mean you're out of the others' lives. You say it yourself. This is just a place to live at," Callen argues. "But... we don't have to come to a conclusion just now, Marty. I want to make that clear. You can take your time, think this through, and then make a decision once you're ready for it. I just want you to know that you can decide on that. You have a say in your life, you see? Even for when I'm no longer there to support you."

"Okay," Marty nods "But I will have to think about that... for a while. And whoever gets the... _honor_ or... trouble... whatever... has to give his or her okay before we even go there to put this down on paper."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," G smirks. "We will just twist and turn this until we have it fitting to us."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Marty smirks faintly. Callen leans back in his seat and loosely wraps his arm around Marty, pulling the teenager close to him. Marty flops his head against the older brother's shoulder.

"Hey, G?" Marty hums now almost tiredly. Callen turns to the teenager, "What?"

"I will not clean up the towels you threw into the bathtub, just so that you know," Marty smirks.

"What? How would you...?" G grimaces, but then rolls his eyes. "You really are a bat."

"I'm Batman," Marty snickers.

"You and your comics...," Callen sighs.

"Can I do that now, too, with the towels?" Marty smirks.

"Sure, but then _you_ clean it up," G grins.

"Fine with me," Marty smiles, snuggling a little more against G's shoulder.

And normalcy has them back, even through the dark spots of life, even in the face of those demons.

Because they decide on the life they want to live.

Because they have each other.

And nothing else matters.


	35. Figments of Coffee, Grey & Cologne

Author's Note: Hello everyone, welcome back to my world of madness! Thanks for the nice reviews, you're such an encouraging readership. I'm sorry that updating took me that awfully long, but it was exam-time of the year. That always puts my mind off of the good stuff, which is fanfiction after all ;)

Mini-Spoiler: As for the account on law I make here – I'm no lawyer, obviously, or else I would... be way richer, I guess. I read about that on the internet that there actually is this paragraph about this topic, though I want to underline that this is by no means something I would sign as "perfectly true and just that way in real life". I hope you forgive me that, but I want to push the drama, so I felt that I needed that as a kind of pivot, though I have to say I rewrote it already (because it was a little too dramatic to fit the plot, at first). So, the rules exist like that, but I take the liberty to decide how to play it out.

For my beloved French reader: Merci beaucoup ;)

Well, without giving away too much, I think it's now high time to return to my original story line, the gap's filled, at least in my opinion. So now... next arc ahead, yay!

So... trouble ahead, maybe not-so-yay ;)

I hope you'll like it, though. And I hope you won't be disappointed.

Read, review and hopefully enjoy ;)

* * *

Callen and Marty come from the parking lot to the NCIS building, G carrying coffees in his left hand while Marty sips on his cup of caffeinated beverage eagerly.

"Seriously, what do people have with these weird coffee abominations? It just takes ten minutes to order a coffee and people give you the stares if you tell them that you simply want a coffee," Callen snorts. Not many things put him off, but that is something that honestly makes him angry. It just costs valuable time – and G's last nerves. And at some point Callen is convinced that Marty makes him go to those coffee shops for exactly that reason.

"Not all just take a black coffee. Some enjoy... to try something else," Marty shrugs nonchalantly, taking another sip from his coffee. He _loves_ that vanilla spice.

"But that's just... not coffee. Black coffee is coffee. Or espresso. That's it," Callen argues.

"You know that espresso is actually no blend, right?" Marty snorts.

"What?!" Callen blinks at his younger brother.

"Espresso refers to the way it's made, coz it's made under pressure. Es_press_o," Marty snickers.

"I told you before that you shouldn't always pull a Wikipedia on us. It's enough that Kensi does it all the while," Callen snorts, though a smirk is tugging at his lips.

"But she gave me this book to read," Marty argues vehemently.

A little while back, Kensi gave him her book of weird facts – and Marty loves this book from the bottom of his heart, especially since he now has the chance to plot with Kensi against G and Sam. It's simply too much fun to annoy them. Though it literally blew the teenager's mind when he talked to Nate and the psychologist actually _encouraged_ him to do that – because being annoying means that you don't try to please someone else, so he explained. You do what you want, and that is the kind of feeling Marty is still supposed to develop, which means that he now has a free ticket, so Nate said, even though he shouldn't overdo it. And Marty starts to take a liking to the idea of, well, not always trying to please someone else or fit into a scheme. He starts to make up his own mind, and that is a kind of liberation Marty never felt that intense before. He finally feels like having a voice that is heard and that he can hear himself, because for a long while Marty couldn't hear himself and didn't want to either. He put everything and everyone in front of himself, not only out of charity, but also so that he wasn't forced to think about his own problems. He simply worried about everyone else so that he didn't have to worry about himself. That was so in the streets and that was so when he was in the ring. Even if Marty still feels the urge to protect people, even at his own risk if it came to it, he now sees that this also added to his desolate emotional state before he came to stay with G. Marty built up a barrier and excluded himself... from himself, if that is even possible, because the teenager lacks both the knowledge and the strife to dissect the matter any further. What he takes from this, however, is that you can't demand from others to listen to you when you can't even listen to yourself or don't want to hear yourself. For Marty that means that he has to listen to himself and his past also. Only if he faces those troubles, he will have a future, and a voice to announce that future. Marty finds it easier each time to talk about his past with either Nate or Callen, to verbalize those dark thoughts and experiences, because he starts to understand what Nate told him over and over – that this is actually part of the healing process. So that he can heal. So that he can be okay again. Not fine, but okay. That Marty can announce a new kind of reality, by letting go of that past, without neglecting it, but simply finding a way to hold on to its edges, fold the past into smaller units, and store them without putting locks on them.

So yeah, Marty likes being annoying and speaking up for himself. Because he finally can. Because he is around people who let him and who see that it does him simply good. Who listen.

"Yeah, and now you just throw out random knowledge all the while. Your brain will explode if you keep this up," Callen chuckles as he ruffles through the teenager's bangs, knowing fully well how much Marty hates it when he does that. And G _loves_ that.

"You're just mad that you had to admit defeat!" Marty snickers, swatting his hand away.

"Defeat?!" G cries out mockingly.

"Coz now you watch our show – and you're hooked," Marty smirks. Callen laughs at that. _Of course_ Marty had to ace the first tests after G brought on the challenge. And so the older brother is now bound to watch this show with Marty every evening – and even if Callen would never admit it out loud, he really starts to like it, for _whatever_ the reason.

"I'm not _hooked._ I just make good on a promise," G argues. "And anyways, that still doesn't solve the problem of nutty coffee drinkers. I honestly don't get it. Why do people put cinnamon and vanilla in a coffee anyway?"

"Because they can?" Marty offers with a shrug. Callen contemplates for a second, but then cracks a smirk, "... Touché."

As they walk through the door, Marty suddenly stops in the motion, perplex. It's something in the air, or is it? Something strangely familiar, while at the same time so foreign that Marty is most certainly convinced that this is all just a dream. Because it doesn't have this one particular scent deeply embedded into the back of his head, no, it's as though it was washed off, and only that one ingredient remained that makes him remember. But that... can't be. That was... no.

Callen looks at the teenager worriedly once he realizes Marty spacing off, so he asks tentatively, "Something wrong, buddy?"

Marty shakes his head and searches his brother's eyes, "Huh?"

"You just wanna stand there or go inside?" Callen grimaces at Marty's foot still looming over the threshold.

"Oh, uh, no, I was...," Marty mutters absently as he gets inside also and quickly closes the door.

"You sure you're okay?" G asks, concerned.

"Yeah, no, just some figment. Don't sweat it," Marty smirks. He had that before. Just because he smells or hears something, it doesn't mean it's there. Marty discussed it with Nate several times, sometimes a memory just comes back, but then it leaves again, just like smoke dissolves into the unrecognizable if you give it enough time and space. You just have to wait, take a deep breath – and then everything is okay again.

"Alright, if that's whatcha say...," Callen shrugs, not fully convinced, but not too worried. After all, Marty doesn't seem very distressed. The younger brother just has those moments, G knows, but he usually snaps out of them only moments later. They are now at a state where they don't have to make it a topic all the while, which is only another sign for Callen that they came a long way already.

They walk into the bullpen, where Kensi and Sam are already filling out papers.

"Morning, guys," G greets them.

"Coffee!" Kensi cries out excitedly at the sight of the still steaming cups of coffee.

"You know how to say it right?" Callen smirks.

"Coffee!" Kensi cries out in the same voice, sounding almost like a cat.

"... Kensi, now listen and repeat: _Good morning to you, too, G. Oh, did you bring coffee for us? How generous, G, thank you so much for being so considerate_," Sam chuckles.

"Coffee!" Kensi pouts.

"Persistent as ever. And people say guys have the bad manners," G chuckles as he hands her the coffee.

"I didn't have my morning dose of caffeine, you know that this makes me a little...," Kensi mutters around the cup.

"Antsy," Sam snickers.

"I need my caffeine," Kensi argues. The two agents already mean to retort something, when suddenly Hetty approaches the bullpen, her features unnaturally grim and tight. A sight so rare that all eyes are instantly on her.

"Morning, Hetty," Callen greets her almost mechanically. He can't put his finger on it yet, but he can feel that something is not right about this situation.

"Mr. Callen, I need you to come with me, immediately," the petite woman urges, confirming his suspicion.

"Do we have a new case?" Callen blinks – because then he honestly doesn't understand why she looks distressed, because Hetty usually never looks distressed.

"No, I just have to talk to you, so would you be so kind, Mr. Callen?" Hetty urges again, not averting her eyes for only just a second.

Marty grimaces, an uneasy feeling spreading throughout him. It's warm, but not this comforting kind of warm, the kind of warmth that creeps its way past your skin when you enjoy the sunlight or when you pull the sheets over your head like a protective shield, but the kind that sizzles and bubbles, slowly, and increasingly becoming more.

Callen searches Hetty's eyes – and for the first time in a long time he actually sees a kind of desperation in them that seems perfectly foreign on her.

Callen nods tightly, "Okay, uhm... then we do that. Marty? You stay with Sam and Kensi. I'll be back in a bit."

Marty nods hastily, yet wordlessly.

"Alright, see you," Callen says before he follows Hetty, who already walked ahead.

"So? Wanna shoot some airplanes?" Kensi offers, turning to the teenager with a forced gleeful expression on her face. "You know that we have a draw now, so the bets are standing high?"

Marty, however, simply twists around in G's chair. Even if drifting off is nothing new, it unsettles the two agents as they watch Marty lazily turning around in circles. However, the way they figure, it's best to leave the teenager to himself at that second. He is probably just upset about Hetty's tone – because that made them cringe, too.

Marty doesn't really pay attention to anything or anyone surrounding him, though. He is too busy staring at the objects around him being pulled into long lines, dividing color, cutting it, but then creating an unrecognizable blur of clean-cut lines. He is getting slightly dizzy in the head. Marty can feel his head becoming warm as a result, and even if it is not at all too pleasant, it's still better than the searing hot he felt before. Marty just wants the world to wait a little while longer. Be a blur. For as long as it's a blur, he can't see it, can't understand it. And until then... it's just imaginary dragons, just some blurred lines that try to appear concrete when in fact they are nothing but blurry.

Hetty and Callen, meanwhile, made their way into one of the private rooms. Once inside, the petite woman motions Callen to sit down, which he does rather abruptly as she closes the door carefully, meeting his eyes.

"Okay, now we're here. Would you be so kind to explain this whole situation?" Callen demands, his patience wearing thin. "Something's not alright here. That much I can tell."

Hetty holds up her hands in a reassuring gesture, almost, though she seems more than upset herself, "We have a problem," Hetty admits.

"What kind of a problem?" G grimaces, not liking the sound of that. "If we are discussing it alone."

Because that means it can't be solely work-or case-related. No, this most likely means it's... personal.

"Someone called me today. And sought you," Hetty begins, to which Callen blinks at her incredulously, "For what? And who?"

"... Mr. Brandel," Hetty speaks in a hushed voice. "Or rather... CPS called because of him."

"What?" Callen gapes, almost toppling over in shock. That simply can't be. No, no, _no._ This must be some sick kind of joke. However, G knows that Hetty wouldn't ever lie about such things. She wouldn't ever.

But that means... that means it has to be true. It is true, oh God! It's true. _Fuck,_ it's true.

"What does he want?" he grits his teeth almost like a wolf ready to strike. It is only thanks to the self-control he has as an agent that G doesn't just get into his car, drives to the bastard's address and rips that man's windpipe out.

"Well, when I came here today, I received a phone call from CPS, telling me that Mr. Brandel showed up again," Hetty goes on.

"... why does CPS call _you_ about such a thing?" Callen narrows his eyes at her.

"They called you at work, but too early. Which is why I was the one picking up the phone," Hetty explains. "And as you may remember, we discussed that we wanted to have them call to work for those hours because we didn't want Mr. Deeks to pick up the phone and panic once he hears it's CPS on the other end of the line."

CPS bothered them with check-in calls especially in the beginning. One time, Callen was in the bathroom when the phone rang. Marty picked it up, and the child service worker on the other end of the line said that she is from CPS – she never got the finish the sentence. Marty totally panicked, let the receiver fall to the ground, and just stood there motionless for about two minutes, until Callen came out to find him totally perplex and helped him calm down. Marty later admitted that he was just so shocked to hear the name that he was convinced they were taking him away from his older brother. After that experience, CPS agreed to call to the office during certain hours, or else to G's cell phone first, if possible, so that Marty didn't just panic. Even if that seems so far back now. Marty was actually fine talking to them over the past months, even for the check-up visits, he was much more open to them once he grew accustomed to the workers and realized that they are not as bad as they seem at times.

"So... did you talk to them? I mean... _him?"_ Callen asks, biting his lower lip to the point that he can taste the first hints of copper.

"Briefly," Hetty admits, a small grin tugging at her lips. "Nasty voice, made me cringe."

Callen shakes his head with a smirk.

"... what did he want?" Callen asks.

"Well, CPS and Mr. Brandel didn't give too much specific information other than that they sought a... meeting," Hetty goes on.

"Meeting?" Callen grimaces.

"... it sounded like Mr. Brandel wants to see... Mr. Deeks," Hetty goes.

"I won't let that bastard even close to the kid, Hetty!" Callen snarls.

"Mr. Callen...," Hetty sighs. She would rather not say that. Because she personally couldn't agree more with Callen, but Hetty knows what is the state of affairs, and that changes the situation, sadly, and forces her into the other corner.

"If Marty doesn't wanna see him, then the bastard can go ahead fuck himself!" Callen shakes his head. And he knows that Marty doesn't want to see him. He _knows._

"Mr. Callen, you know that I, personally, agree with you in all regards, but you have to understand that... that this situation is _beyond_ unique," Hetty grimaces.

"Other than that this bastard simply dares to seek contact with Marty in whatever the way after all he's put him through, you mean?" Callen huffs.

"Other than that, yes.. it's... Mr. Brandel, since Mr. Deeks is still underage, has still... rights... towards his son," Hetty argues.

"I'm his legal guardian. That means I make the decisions for Marty. And I say he doesn't see his father," Callen snorts. That's why he filled out all those papers and let CPS mess with them both. So that something like that _can't_ happen. _Mustn't_ happen.

"And that is the breaking point here, much to my dismay, Mr. Callen," Hetty exhales, her eyes almost watery now.

"What now?" Callen blinks at her incredulously.

"As I said, this situation is... _special..._ but I have to admit that I didn't think about the issue of legal guardian vs. adoption when I told you that it may be helpful to become Mr. Deeks' guardian so that you have legal right to make decisions in his name...," Hetty exhales.

"What do you mean?" Callen asks again, his mind unable to connect the dots. He only sees red, red like fire. Red like anger. Red like blood. Marty's blood. And that bastard's blood.

"The thing is that you are, in the eyes of the law, _merely_ the legal guardian, not the adoptive parent. In case of adoption, the actual parents have no longer any legal right towards their child. Yet, in case of the guardianship that we sought for you and Mr. Deeks, for it fitted our purposes perfectly, Mr. Deeks' parents still have rights, and they have a right to see him, for instance," Hetty tells him. "At least that is what my lawyer said when I called him after Mr. Brandel phoned me."

"What?!" Callen stares daggers at her. That can't be, can it? Because of a stupid definition of the term, Marty might be forced through hell all over again?! Look the devil in the eyes? That can't be true. That must be some kind of sick joke. It must be a joke. Where is the camera?!

Please! Camera!?

"It's sadly true. And I wish for all of it to be different. I didn't think of that option, since I, as well as the lawyer, were perfectly convinced that Mr. Brandel would never become an issue again, since he... you know why," Hetty exhales. After Marty gave his explicit consent, Callen let Hetty know about what his father did to him. It didn't surprise G to see her knuckles turning white at this also, and the "bugger" she muttered over and over again. And even though Hetty didn't like it that Marty wanted to leave it at that, she understood that the teenager decided that way, just as Callen learned to live with that part of Marty's past as given.

Even if in the retrospective, G starts to regret the decision now.

"There's no way I let that bastard talk to Marty! I'll go to court and tear him a new one!" Callen growls deep in his throat.

"Mr. Callen, please," Hetty holds up her hands again.

"What? He wants to challenge me, well, then I'm up to the game! I will kick his ass!" Callen snarls in a feral way.

"Mr. Callen, I plead you to cooperate with Mr. Brandel for now," Hetty tells him.

"Why would I?!" Callen cries out.

_What?!_

"Believe me that this was not _my_ first impulse either, but after I had conversation with CPS and the lawyer, he suggested that it would be favorable to... show goodwill," Hetty explains.

"_Goodwill?!_ Are you kidding me?! I will not show any goodwill to a man who beat up his own family, _my_ family!" G barks.

"Not for Mr. Brandel, but yourself and Mr. Deeks. Whatever it is that Mr. Brandel wants, we would do best to settle this without court-hearing and the like. That will put even more of a strain on Mr. Deeks than will this whole situation anyways, or am I mistaken?" Hetty argues.

No, she is not, and Callen knows that. It was even more of a trauma for Marty to stand in front of that judge and tell the truth but not be heard than it was to go through this, or so Marty told him. To know, to feel those wounds, know its source, but have this one institution Marty put faith in to save him fail him.

But still, Callen would rather have Marty nowhere near this. At all. Ever.

"Look, I don't say that we have to see him just now, but we have an agenda now, don't we?" Hetty tells him. And that seems just so typical for Hetty Lange, even in moments of direst crisis, you can be sure, she already has a plan in mind.

"You mean ripping his face off?" G snorts, crossing his arms over his chest.

"No, I mean to make him back out of his legal rights and possibly adopt Mr. Deeks yourself," Hetty argues calmly.

"... for that we'd have to go to court anyways," Callen retorts. Why then agree to the meeting if court is inevitable anyways?

"But we would get a chance to perhaps settle this... _peacefully._ Before we get out the guns,we should at least make sure that... that this isn't something that Mr. Brandel is actually open to. Maybe he... _understood..._ his wrongdoings or will understand and... give in. We don't know yet, so the best we can do is... to play along, see what he wants, and _then_ take the next steps," Hetty tells him. "Or take out the guns."

"I don't know, Hetty," Callen exhales, his energy suddenly leaving him, like air out of a balloon. His muscles feel like a marathon, his lungs after a way too long dive in the ocean.

"Mr. Callen, you have my word for it that this is the truth I'm telling you. We should at least consider this... _chance..._ for as long as everything is still fresh. If we have a chance of settling this without going to court, we should give it at least a try," Hetty argues. "As painful as it is."

"I can't believe this," Callen looks at her with wide eyes.

"Trust me that I fought any urge not to just send a few of our men to his place and take care of business," Hetty assures him. Callen manages a small smirk. "But all I mean to say is that... for whatever you may decide, I hope you see that this is something we actually should consider - to carry out the overall goal."

"To keep Marty," Callen nods.

"Exactly," Hetty agrees. "Of course this does by no means imply that Mr. Deeks will or has to give his okay, but... I believe that if you don't agree to this idea at all, there is no way Mr. Deeks would even consider it, you see."

And Callen gets that. Because it's true. Even if Marty learns to form his opinion, step by step, he is still very much dependent on Callen and his opinion. If G was that much against the meeting as such, Marty wouldn't agree to it, even if he would personally, maybe.

This is just all too complicated.

"I don't like it, but... yeah, I get it," Callen exhales, swallowing hard against the bile bubbling up in his throat at the mere thought of coming face-to-face with this man. And Marty being forced to go through it also.

"So now," Hetty says, clapping her hands together. "I already called up Mr. Getz. He is on his way here, but he will only be here within the next hour or so because he was called to an assignment in Mexico he only got to finish a few hours back. The lawyer is on hold and will jump into action when it's needed. It's up to you what we do, though."

"... I have to tell him, right?" Callen sighs as realization dawns on him.

"You don't have to unless you want to, Mr. Callen," Hetty argues. And neither one can deny the strange familiarity of this conversation... it's just as it was when it came out that G and Marty are half-brothers, and the agent had to decide to tell the teenager, just that... that this had a positive outlook. This here just has terror and tears as a prospect, both of which Callen would rather spare his little brother, at all costs.

"If you want _me_ to do it, I will. Or you let Mr. Getz handle it. Or you do it with his or both our help. That is up to you to decide," Hetty argues. "Or... well, there is of course the option to first of all..."

"You mean to keep it from him until we... talked to Brandel ourselves?" G grimaces.

"It's an option," Hetty shrugs. "Not a nice one, but... I think we are picking lesser evils anyways."

"... if I did that, I would have to stay in here, though," G makes a face.

"Why?" Hetty questions.

"Because there is no way I can hide that for only just a single second when it comes to Marty," G exhales wearily. He can play any role on the job. He can play people. G can be an arms dealer, a trafficker, soldier, doctor, lawyer, milkman if it came to it. He puts on glasses, a coat, a suit, and he is that person. But this is no job. This is his life. And it's Marty. G realized very early on that he can't really lie to his little brother, not when it counts. Even if it would save the teenager some pain, so G is convinced. Callen has no distance to Marty, and that means he can't lie to him. Marty can actually read people quite well, better than G would like him to at times. It'd be much easier if Marty would just not realize the rise of his voice or that uncertainty in his eyes, a simple twitch, but the teenager sees with those blue orbs, absorbs everything, every hint, reads it, catalogs it, understands. At some point it seems as though Marty is G's personal secret agent who knows everything about his target. And even though it never ceases to amaze him, it makes G's heart sink at this point. Because Callen can't spare him the truth, no matter his skills, no matter how well he can lie to other people, G can't spare his little brother this hell even with the smallest of lies.

"Well, Mr. Callen, that is no problem," Hetty argues. "You can stay here for as long as it takes."

"Yeah? And what will Marty think? He's probably worrying himself sick as we speak," Callen huffs. He knows his little brother. That is just the way Marty ticks. He is just always worried. And if Callen mysteriously disappears and doesn't come back, then Marty will inevitably worry, that much is for sure.

"I could say you are to question someone or so," Hetty shrugs.

"I... don't want that," G shakes his head. "Actually."

"Why?" Hetty asks mutely, though she already has an idea what the answer will be.

"I swore to myself that I'd never lie to him. Enough people have done that, made false promises... Marty trusts me. He trusts me not to lie to him. Ad that includes that I don't let you lie to him for me. This is about him. He... as sick as it is... _deserves_ to know the truth, and not just snippets and pieces I decide are proper," Callen explains. Marty said it often enough, how much it pained him that other people decided on his life and that he had no say in his for felt eternities. And G is not willing to make him suffer through that ever again.

"Well, that still leaves the option of either Mr. Getz or me handling the situation," Hetty offers. "As I said, you don't have to do this, Mr. Callen, or even if you do, you don't have to do it alone."

"It's Marty's decision," G declares.

"Well, asking his opinion includes that we tell him, doesn't it?" Hetty argues.

"No... I... I think I know now. I won't like it. He won't like it, but... it's the best we can make of this mess," Callen grimaces, kneading his palms nervously, trying to smooth the ache out of his joints. He doesn't want this, but that seems to be the only option.

"But for that I'd ask you... to get him for me. If I go there, he'll know something's off."

"Of course, whatever you want, Mr. Callen," Hetty assures him. "And you're sure you don't want to make any steps beforehand? I just ask to be on the safe side. Once I get Mr. Deeks, there is no... going back."

"I won't take any steps before I've talked to him," Callen declares.

"Okay," Hetty nods. "Then I will... get him."

"Thank you," G nods curtly as the petite woman crosses the threshold.

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Callen," Hetty says, not turning to him.

"It's not your fault," G replies, not glancing at her either.

"And still, I'm sorry," Hetty nods to herself before she walks on. Callen flops down on the couch, gasping, the world spinning. G allows the lights of the lamp to make him dizzy. He just needs to see some color, even if it's just optical illusions of dancing-around colorful dots behind his eyelids.

* * *

Hetty makes her way back to the bullpen. Upon her entrance, all eyes are instantly on her.

"Mr. Deeks?" Hetty turns to Marty, who is no longer spinning around in the chair, but lazily twists from right to left. He stops to meet her eyes, tilting his head. Something is up, Marty knows that, but Hetty is a secret agent – her emotions don't betray her voice or face. Of course not.

"Yeah?" he brings out, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Would you come with me for a second?" she asks politely, though it doesn't take an agent to figure that after G was ordered away, Hetty will most likely bring Marty back to G. Possibly to discuss something. Something touchy. Marty decides he doesn't like this situation. It has something therapy-like written all over it.

"Kay," Marty grimaces as he gets up. With that the two walk off, leaving Kensi and Sam to stare.

"I don't like this," Kensi grimaces, her eyes wandering.

"Me neither," Sam shakes his head.

"I smell trouble," Kensi exhales. She means to write something down, but realizes that she scribbled all over the page in worry. She makes a paperball and tosses it into the trashcan, but misses.

"I just hope that we're simply seeing things," Sam grimaces. "Sometimes Hetty is just... mysterious."

"I surely hope so. Because those two don't deserve more trouble than they had anyways," Kensi argues. "They should simply be happy."

"Yeah, they definitely should," Sam agrees, looking at his own paper, just to find that he did nonsense patterns also. He grimaces, tears the page into two and flops it into the trashcan.

"Coffee break?" he asks.

"Coffee break," she agrees. The two walk stand up, in desperate need of some distraction for the dark thoughts creeping up all the way from the ground to their spines.

This is not good.

So not good.

* * *

Marty and Hetty are still walking down the hallways to the room where G is waiting for them.

"Hetty?" Marty ask tentatively. The woman stops, "Yes, Mr. Deeks?"

"This is not by any chance about the gum incident, or is it?" Marty asks.

"What?" she frowns.

"What?" Marty copies her. "Nevermind. I'm just nervous. Then I always start to... joke."

Marty grimaces. Even if he feared her reaction, Marty actually hoped that it was something as trivial as the gum incident, which was absolutely Kensi's and Nell's fault, but the teenager can't worry about that at the moment. Because if it isn't the gum incident... it's serious.

Damn, it's serious.

Hetty walks on wordlessly. They reach the room and she leads him inside. Marty's eyes are instantly on his older brother.

This is _definitely_ not about the gum incident.

There is a moment of silence, but, surprisingly, Marty is the one to speak up first, "Okay... there's obviously an elephant in the room that wants to get out quite badly."

"In fact," G nods, his features unnaturally tight.

"Then what does he want?" Marty questions.

"Okay, uhm... I wanna be... straight with you. I have... bad... news," Callen goes on.

"Well, obviously, or else we wouldn't have this two-stage intervention thing going on here," Marty snorts. Callen can't help the small smirk on his lips, but then sobers up instantly, "But before I tell you... the _plot..._ I give you the _warning."_

"PG-warning? TV reference... that's _bad,"_ Marty grimaces, because it means G thinks it's necessary to calm him like that, which means that there is something Marty needs to stay calm about.

"I have something to tell you. I don't like it. You won't like it. The question is how we want to handle this. Nate is on his way here, so we can wait for him to come get here and... help... or we go straight ahead," Callen tells him. "That' up to you to say."

Those are the only options he sees.

"... so this situation would actually... need... Nate," Marty makes a face. Because then it's really bad.

"... yeah," G manages to say.

"Huh," Marty brings out, his eyes wandering around aimlessly, trying to find a fixed point, but finds none.

"I don't want to lie to you, which is why I give you this warning. I want you to say what you think you can handle better. I know it's not much, but that's... all I can do to offer you... security," Callen grimaces, hoping that this somehow makes sense to Marty.

"Then what is it?" Marty asks, clapping his hands together nervously.

"Marty, if I tell you, there's no going back," G warns him.

"There isn't anyways. Something happened. Something bad, seemingly, if it requires Nate. It already happened, or else we... wouldn't be here. All we do is to push around the information in the hope it will just miraculously make it all disappear. And sure as hell I know that ain't working. Tried that long enough and failed," Marty argues.

"You are sure?" Callen asks.

"Yeah," Marty nods, with more resolution than G had ever thought the teenager could muster. "I... I just wanna know."

Because being in the suspense is even worse for Marty – at least he hopes he is right in that prediction.

"Okay, then you better... sit... on the ground," Callen grimaces.

"Well, that's shit," Marty mutters as he flops down on the ground. If G actually _suggests_ it, this must be bad, as in apocalyptically bad. He searches his brother's eyes. Marty can see distress and hurt, but the reason? The teenager has honestly no clue. And that tears him apart.

"Hetty... received a phone call today," G begins, biting his lower lip. He hopes that if he starts slowly, Marty might still back out if it gets too much. This is just all too messed-up.

"... from whom and why?" Marty asks directly, much like Callen before. Hetty shakes her head silently.

"CPS," G replies. Marty cringes, but tries to keep calm. CPS doesn't always imply bad stuff to happen. They actually made it possible that he could live with his brother, but... Marty just doesn't like these people in general. He saw too many victims of that system when he was still in the streets. And he doesn't like to count himself among these, even if he was or... still is, at some point.

"… okay...," Marty grimaces.

"And they let us know that...," G says, but then stops, closing his eyes. He can't say it. He doesn't want to, even though G know he must. Marty was a happy child this morning, talking about coffees and showing off with his intellect. And now... now that will all be destroyed, in an instant. Those words, they bear the power to crush that bit of happiness to tiny shatters. And Callen is not sure if he can pick up the pieces and put them back together once that mirror reflecting reality falls.

G opens his eyes again to meet Marty's, the two blue pools as vibrant as ever.

"CPS called because... your dad... is back," Callen says, with more clarity than he had estimated. He searches Marty's eyes for a reaction, but... he receives none. Marty just stares ahead as he almost whispers, "What did CPS say are... the intentions?"

"It's about the argument of guardianship. You remember that we discussed in the beginning that I wanted to become your legal guardian so that I can take you in and all," Callen explains.

"Yeah," Marty replies almost mechanically.

"Well, apparently, none of us thought that he'd... come back, which is why we didn't push the plan with adoption. You remember that conversation, too, don't you?" G goes on. He actually had a talk with Marty about the matter, if the teenager wanted that. However, back then both agreed that it felt simply awkward to _adopt_ Marty, because they are brother and brother and not father and son, even if they are in some twisted sense. And Marty admitted that he'd rather keep his mother's name, for sentimental reasons. That had been the end of it. Both agreed to bring this up if something happened, if something changed, but neither one ever saw it coming that it would become that urgent again.

_Necessary,_ actually.

"Yeah, we agreed that the guardianship was the best option," Marty nods.

"Therein lies the problem now. If I had adopted you, your dad would have lost all rights towards you. But with me as your guardian... he still has them," G explains.

"Because there never were charges," Marty mutters more to himself than anyone else.

"Yeah," Callen manages to say faintly.

"What's the strategy, then?" Marty asks, still not looking at Callen, or anyone or anything.

"It's up to you to say," G tells him. "You say what you want and... that is what we do."

"... what are the _options,_ then?" Marty asks again, his voice flat.

"We could go to court immediately, fight it out, make clear what he did to you and that he's therefore incapable of taking care of you," Callen tells him. "Or we could try to bypass a fight in court and meet up with him to maybe make him back out of his rights. We don't know what he wants. He said he wanted to meet, but it's possible that he doesn't..."

Doesn't want to take Marty away from him.

Callen just can't say it.

"Which is probably more favorable from a rational perspective," Marty nods lightly.

"... it's not about rationality, Marty," Callen argues.

"It is. The more rational the decision, the better. If it's all emotional... it'd be a mess. Rationally, it's best to bypass court, at least when it comes to the death-battle of the guardianship because one won't come around court sooner or later, I guess," Marty argues, still averting his eyes. "So it would be best to make... arrangements before... it comes to that."

Callen stares, not knowing what to say or think. He actually thought Marty would panic, freak out, scream, something, anything, but G didn't expect him to just... sit there and... stare.

"... When is Nate gonna be here?" Marty asks.

"I just received a text from him, it'll be about thirty minutes," Hetty tells him quietly.

"Marty?" Callen tries again to get into contact with the teenager somehow, but fails. "Marty, can you look at me, please?"

The younger brother turns his head slowly.

"Is there something I can do?" he asks.

"Set up a meeting as soon as possible," is the simple reply.

"Marty...," the older brother exhales, his voice teary.

"Or let Hetty handle it. I don't really care," Marty exhales. That is when he gets up, almost trips, but catches himself to sit down in one of the corners of the room. Hetty and Callen follow the teenager with their eyes nervously. Only God knows what must be going through Marty's mind and heart at this moment. The only thing that is clear is that he hurts. Hurt is written all over him, in letters, painted with invisible, yet so clear ink that it covers his body with these wicked words like a tattoo where the needles went in too far. "_H__urt_," "_I hurt_," "_pain_," "_it pains me_," "_make it stop_," "_please_," "_PLEASE_".

The older brother sucks in a deep breath before he cautiously walks over to the teenager and crouches down in front of him.

"Marty, do you want me to stay here with you?" he asks in a hushed voice. "You know... to talk about this... or not..."

"We should just... wait for Nate," Marty whispers, not meeting his eyes. "For now... I don't wanna talk."

"Okay," Callen nods. "Is it alright if I just sit here?"

Marty gives a shrug before he nods lazily. Callen sits down in front of him, keeping a little distance, his eyes solely on his brother. And Callen feels the ink spreading over him also as the realization dawns on him that he can't fix this. That he can't take that pain away from Marty, hush it away, wipe it away. All he can do is sit there, be there.

They will simply have to wait for Nate.

There seems just nothing else they can do.

Nothing to say.

And suddenly, everything seems to be just nuances of grey.

All color disappears, fades away, dies. All vanilla flavor turns bitter. All coffee scent turns to figments.

And with these, all happiness from earlier the day disappears, too.

Vanishes.


	36. Revelations in the Boatshed

Author's Note: Thank you so, so, so much for the encouraging and so, so, so, so nice reviews. It's so kind of you, really.

So, I gave my best to get on with the next chapter ASAP so that you don't have to wallow in the poor-Marty-feels for too long... even if this still deals with it, obviously, but you're about to get a better insight into why he reacted the way he did... just to get more drama. I'm sorry. This is piling up again.

For my French reader: Voilà, ton très attendu "Nate-moment".

As already mentioned, I'm heading back to my original story line slowly but surely, but I also realize that I already did changes to the plot, so it's actually more than editing I still have to do, though I still hope that I will be able to post faster now again.

Well, anyways, I hope you'll still enjoy my take on it.

Read, review, and hopefully enjoy ;)

* * *

After felt eternities, Callen and Marty are still sitting in that room that turns more and more grey with every second passing, as it seems. G glances at Marty, who is busy glancing at... something. Or nothing. The older brother can't tell. Marty just seems... gone, so far gone that even though G can see him right in front of him, in the flesh, he is afraid that if he squints too long, Marty will simply vanish, merge in the grey background and be forever stuck there. And it tears Callen apart, shred for shred, to see the life practically drained from Marty's features, as though they are back to square one where his little brother was too afraid to ask for the smallest of things, said nothing, was lost in that vast space inside his head that had so many corners to hide in that Callen was convinced for the longest of times that he would never be able to spot Marty in one of those dark corners and get him out to bring him back into the light.

And that all because of that bastard.

His mere existence makes G sick.

And angry.

_Very_ angry.

Callen is pulled out of his thoughts as he feels his phone vibrating against his thigh, though. He glances at the screen, Hetty.

"Marty?" G speaks in a hushed voice. The teenager raises his head lightly.

"I'll be just outside little quick, okay?" he continues. Marty manages a small nod, but then is back to his little space again, some unknown corner G fears he can't reach him in. Callen lets out a weary sigh as he gets back up and goes outside, where Hetty and Nate, apparently, are already waiting for him.

"God, Nate, it's good to see you," Callen sighs. Because usually the psychologist always comes up with a conclusion how to fix it. Make it at least okay again.

He has to help him make it okay again.

Nate claps him on the shoulder sympathetically, offering a weary smile.

"I came as fast as I could. Hetty already gave me the briefs," Nate tells him. "How are you?"

"Just shocked," Callen provides. "And... angry... very angry."

"I picture," Nate nods. "But you'll be... alright for the moment? Or do you want to talk just yet?"

"I'm okay, I just... you have to see Marty," Callen tells him, hugging his arms.

He has to see him.

And fix it.

Fast.

Please. So that Callen can finally spot Marty's corner and hush the grey away.

"Sure, so... about Marty, what's the situation in your opinion?" Nate questions, trying to get an impression of the situation. Callen is now at a state where he knows very well where Marty is standing at, even if this situation is surely out of any scheme they set so far. Yet, it's valuable information that will hopefully help the therapist choose the right techniques from the beginning, because at times point, any mistake might have severe consequences.

"Uhm... Chernobyl?" G snorts.

"Okay," Nate nods. "Is he responsive?"

"He does answer, but he won't hold eye contact most of the time. He didn't show... any emotion, other than shock, I guess... And once I told him, he just went ahead to sit in the corner and didn't move since. I sat with him, but... but nothing. I mean, I expected him to... break out, not... I don't know. I don't know what this is," Callen shakes his head.

"Well, I'd suggest that I talk to him first, see where we are standing at. You... get a cup of tea with Hetty or so. I call you once something's up or we can discuss things together. How does that sound?" Nate offers.

"He's asked for you anyways," G manages, unable to hide that bit of pain in his chest.

"Okay, that is really... new," Nate grimaces. Even if Marty grew better showing that he actually felt like gaining something from the therapy, it never happened before that the teenager actually _demanded_ to see Nate.

"Yeah," G exhales, feeling those small daggers poking his heart in the most agonizing ways possible. He hates this feeling that Marty slips away from him, in whatever the way now. He can't afford to lose him. He just can't.

"But Callen, that is surely not meant to be a sign to you that he doesn't trust you," Nate assures him. "The way we set it up with therapy, it's actually the common procedure."

"What now?" Callen grimaces.

"Marty often trains in single therapy what he means to tell or share with you later on. I take it that this here will be similar," Nate explains, hoping that this will help the agent calm down at least some.

"Let's hope it's so," Callen sighs.

"Well, Mr. Callen, then let's have a cup of tea," Hetty says, leading the still distraught agent away from the room, though G would rather go on sitting with Marty, to be there, show him that he is there – and doesn't go away.

Nate positions himself in front of the door, takes a deep breath, and then enters cautiously, but confidently. He finds Marty still in that corner, staring at the ground absently.

"Hey," Nate says quietly, stepping closer. The psychologist takes his time until he stands in front of the teenager, taking well-measured steps, not too fast, not too big.

"Is it okay if I sit with you?" Nate asks tentatively. Marty nod lazily, so the psychologist sits down next to Marty, resting his back against the wall also. For a while, he simply sits next to Marty.

"Callen said you didn't want to talk?" Nate questions after a while, his voice perfectly calm, almost nonchalant, for someone who didn't know about the situation at least. Marty shrugs his shoulders.

"Okay, you don't have to talk unless you want to," Nate assures him. "But can you show me a number? You don't have to say it. Just so that I know where we are at."

The teenager contemplates for a while until he makes up his mind. Marty holds up both his hands to show ten, but then shakes his hands to indicate that he multiplies.

"Yeah, I get that," Nate grimaces sympathetically. "Okay, how high is your anxiety level now?"

Marty makes the same movement all over again. Nate takes some more time before he says something else.

"But you know that you are safe here. You are safe with us," Nate tells him.

"For how long?" Marty suddenly says, his voice hoarse.

"What do you mean?" Nate asks.

"Even if G tried anything to leave me in charge... there's nothing we can do... to prevent _that_ anymore," Marty argues. He was such a fool, acting all tough, stating that he wants the truth.

Because now the teenager just wants to shove it back to where it came from. Pour gasoline over it. Set it on fire, and then run, run as far as his feet carry him.

"But we can still... fight, and be sure we will," Nate tells him. Marty doesn't comment, glances ahead another time, before he sighs heavily.

"I smelled his cologne. In the office. I knew it, deep down... I knew it," Marty mutters, drawing his knees closer to his chest, finding comfort in the smell of jeans, because they smell of the washing powder over at G's place. It smell like G. Like home. And that's so much better than the cologne.

"But he wasn't there, was he?" Nate asks.

"Not that I know... I thought it was a figment... I still want it to be," Marty admits. "Even though I know I can't change it anymore... I still try."

"In how far?" Nate questions.

"Even now... I try to bypass... saying... things... about this situation," Marty says, suddenly a lot more hysterical as an uncertain smile creeps up his lips.

"What do you mean?" Nate asks tentatively.

"Did I... did I ever tell you this? That the kids and I... that we had a philosophy... back in the ring?" Marty asks, nervously swallowing, the smirk fading away again.

"You said _that_ you had something like that, but you never specified," Nate nods.

"We used to say that... things only got real once we said them. That made it easier, at least in our opinion. When kids... _disappeared..._ we didn't ever say it. We didn't make it real until we had... _valid_ proof. Just as we didn't speak about... the _jobs..._ we just didn't want it to... be real," Marty says, leaning his head back against the wall, his eyes searching the ceiling, the lamps, allowing his eyes to absorb the colors that are hidden within the white light. "And with this here... I try again. In the back of the head I tell myself that if I... don't say... what this is... it won't be the case, even if I know it's bogus."

"It's not bogus, Marty, it's a coping mechanism," Nate argues.

"What happened to me being supposed to talk it all out?" Marty huffs.

"That's of course still true, but it's understandable to react that way. Sometimes we don't want to believe things. We take some time to figure ourselves out. That doesn't mean that you neglect reality, you just... take a break, take your time to focus, process this," Nate offers.

"If the break lasts a lifetime, it's surely neglecting reality at some point," Marty snorts. "I don't want this to be real."

"None of us does," Nate nods. "Me neither, by the way."

There is a moment of silence until Marty speaks up again, his voice heavy, dark, shaky.

Simply hurt.

"But it _is_ real," Marty sighs. "It is real. My... dad... is... back. And he seemingly wants contact again, or just mess up my life, or do whatever. But he is back. He is so far back in my life that I smell his cologne. That is real. Fuck, that's real."

He suddenly jumps to his feet and starts pacing.

"It's real," Marty curses to himself over and over. Nate stays in his spot, eying the teenager carefully. Marty goes on for a while until he stops dead in his tracks again.

"... Is that it?" Marty mutters, his breath hitched.

"What is?" Nate questions.

"This... here. This," Marty gesticulates wildly.

"What do you mean?" Nate asks calmly.

"I... is that just the state of affairs, you tell me? That whenever I start to enjoy something... dare to... hold on to it... love it... make it real for myself... it's taken away from me again?" Marty asks, now looking Nate right in the eyes. "Is that really what I should make real by saying it out loud? Is that it?"

"It's not, Marty. Because there is a difference in real and _real,"_ Nate argues. "You didn't say these things out loud so that they weren't real _to you_. That they were or are real is something else."

"I know that," Marty sighs. "It's obviously so. I mean... that those kids died... I knew it. We just didn't say it coz of that promise. It gave the smaller ones hope. And... I dared to believe in that lie at some point. That made it more bearable. That's all. But this here... I said it, and even before that it was reality. He is back. And he screws up my life, again... and it's my damn fault."

"Why do you think that it's your fault?" Nate asks.

"Coz... to CPS... I just said that my dad's _gone..._ implying that he.. is dead... If I had... if I had said... what he did to me and that this is why I ran away, then... then this may all be different now, right? I... started this...," Marty mutters. He threw the first stone that eventually triggered the avalanche suffocating the teenager right now.

"Did you say so because you didn't want them to know about your father, so that they wouldn't go looking for him? Or did you just say so because you weren't ready yet?" Nate questions. "And be honest to yourself."

"... I didn't set up a plan, if that's what you're asking," Marty shakes his head. "I just... when they asked... I just said it. I wanted it to be that way."

"But then you know it isn't your fault," Nate argues. "Because there's the difference between real and real. You _wanted_ him gone, that's why you said it. You didn't say it to trick somebody. You said it because you wanted to make yourself believe that. You wanted it to be real for you, that he is gone. You simply... took your time."

"No matter what, though... the truth is that... that I said he was gone and that I didn't want to waste a single thought on him. And that made it possible that he got back. And now he _is_ back," Marty shakes his head. "He is back and there is nothing I can do to change that. No matter what I say or don't say, he is back. And that doesn't go away."

"Sadly, that is no circumstance that we can change, but what we can change is the outcome, Marty," Nate argues. "It doesn't have to end in disaster."

"... considering my life up to that point, it has best chances to end in disaster," Marty snorts.

"Life's more than math, more than probabilities, you know that. That you and G found together is against all odds, right?" Nate tells him.

"Surely is...," Marty exhales.

"So... odds might still be in your favor, and sure as hell we will try to push our luck to the limits," Nate assures him.

"I really wish it'd work to walk backwards to go back in time. Then I would just... stay home," the teenager mutters. "Even though I know that this would simply be pushing the inevitable also."

Marty bites his lower lip, tasting a faint brush of vanilla. God, how he wished he could go back to their rant about coffee and vanilla. Espresso. Being annoying.

He hates figments. At least those that turn out to be true.

"A while after I had run away... I thought he'd never come back. Because he wanted me gone anyways...," Marty admits, glancing out the window as the vanilla flavor disappears from his split lips. "I never thought he'd come back... but why does he now?"

"I can't tell you that," Nate shrugs sympathetically. "That is something only he knows."

"But if you had to guess...," Marty whispers.

"That's no good idea, Marty," Nate argues. "We can now hypothesize all we want, you see. And still something else might become of it."

"I just think about the option where he comes back as a... reformed man, you know? In... suit and checkered shirt and... combed-back hair, having gone on the wagon and everything... and that honestly gives me the creeps," Marty admits, hugging his arms against the cold spreading throughout him, making him shiver.

"Why?" Nate asks.

"I have that... picture... inside my head. Of... of that night when I shot him... Because after that, I never really looked him in the eye again. Not even in the hearing. But from that night I still have a clear picture, crystal-clear. And what I remember is a broken man who had greasy, messy hair, was full of shit, full of booze, fallen-in cheeks and ugly teeth, wrinkled clothes and smelled of God knows what. That is the picture I have... and... that was true. I know that. That was... the real... him. But if he shows up... as someone... reformed... then I'll just start to question myself again. Because I believed that... that this would always be him, the man from this picture inside my head. That there is no way this man will ever change," Marty admits. "I wanted him to be that... that unspoken evil in the fairytales, you see? I wanted to make him the villain. Because in the story books, the hero kills the witch, slays the dragon... and those villains die... evil. Because that is all they are or will ever be. And I wanted him to be that also, just another witch to kill, another dragon to slay. This antagonist with no chance of changing, in contrast to the protagonist who usually undergoes some kind of change, a kind of realization. I wanted him to be this... unmoving, stable, static... evil... with no way to... change."

That is one of the things that always fascinated Marty about literature. That you could read a fairytale, for example, and you'll have those absolutely clear structures. There is a certain procedure. There are certain phrases, patterns, rules – and certain roles. There is the hero. And there is the villain. The villain is evil, if he isn't purified by some magic chant or by the kindness of that hero, stays evil till the bitter end, dies the death of a person with black heart or turns to dust. Dies evil. Dies ugly. Dies in a black cloak to resemble the night, and therefore the nightmares.

Fairtytales are easy to understand. Because they take nightmare figures and makes them pure evil, set them in stereotypes when usually nightmares are swirls of color, unspoken terrors without shape or structure. Those tales make the nightmare something you can grasp – something mortal. You can't kill nightmares, but you can slay a witch or dragon. They are no gods.

But now there is at least the prospect of a villain Marty made such who... might... change. And that is against the rules. Because villains don't change, if not for the hero allowing them to change. And Marty didn't allow him to change. His dad was supposed to stay a dragon, a dragon to slay... or die alone. Villains don't change so that they can be slain. And that's why Marty doesn't want his father to be reformed in any way. Because he fears that he can't slay him anymore.

"You want him to be one of the bad guys," Nate nods. Marty nods, pinching his lower lip with thumb and index finger.

"He _is_ one of the bad guys," Nate goes on.

Marty glances at him curiously, "I thought that you, as my therapist, would have to act as the unbiased mediator here. What happened to that?"

"As your therapist, I believe you. That means I believe in what you say, and that means that he did to you what you told me. And that means he is one of the bad guys. Even if he is reformed now, by some chance, he did what he did. And even if he didn't get punished for this, he did those things to you – an that makes him a bad guy."

"... thanks," Marty manages. And he is honestly thankful that the psychologist makes no attempt to prove him wrong. Nate knows the story by now. And it gives Marty the feeling that he is not just supporting him as his psychologist, but he supports him because he is his friend.

"It's nothing," Nate assures him.

"Is it selfish to think about running away?" Marty asks after a while, not meeting Nate's eyes.

"It's not selfish, no," Nate replies.

"But?" Marty questions.

"Well, it depends. Do you just want to run away from this situation here, alone, or...," Nate sighs, but the teenager intervenes, "I don't want to be away from G. And that makes it selfish in my opinion. I would just love to ask him to run away together."

"Marty, it's really not selfish to think about that," the psychologist assures him.

"What? If I were to ask him that, and G would agree... I'd ask him to leave his life behind, for my sake. Quit his job here, quit the team. Who does that? I mean, who does than and still says and believes he loves that other person? If he asks the impossible?" Marty shakes his head. At least that is the lesson he learned long time ago. If you ask the impossible, a bit of love is lost, a tiny shred, but if it piles up over the years, the heart breaks, and there is no way to mend it again.

"Marty, you think about that because you want to get away from all this. It's not that you want to get away from the team or that you want to have G solely for yourself because you can't share. We both know this couldn't be further from the truth. The thing is that you just want to get away from this. And that you want G with you makes it clear that you care. You don't want to leave him, you simply want to stay with him, no matter the costs. And no one should or would blame you for this," Nate tells him. "Ever."

"I just don't wanna... go back," Marty admits.

"That's not even said yet. We don't know what he wants," Nate assures him another time.

"But he might... right?" Marty asks, and Nate gets the underlying message – "_don't lie to me. I need you to be honest with me. Please_".

"Yes, he might," the psychologist nods. "But there is still the entire team and I standing between that. And the bunch of lawyers, child service workers who owe her, agents and detectives Hetty knows to gather all the dirty linen when it comes to your father."

"... that is strangely reassuring," Marty manages a feeble smirk.

"What number are we at?" Nate questions.

"I feel... calm-er now," Marty tells him after a moment of consideration. "... Six, maybe."

"That's good," Nate nods.

"I guess I gave G quite a scare with... all this, didn't I?" Marty grimaces.

"He is just concerned, Marty. It's natural that you reacted that way. Sometimes people just don't want to talk. They take their time," the psychologist assures him. "You took yours."

Marty nods, glancing out the window again. Maybe if he squints just hard enough, he can see the ocean again, or hear the waves crushing, taste salt on his tongue.

"Do you want to see G or talk to him?" Nate asks after a while. "After you calmed down some?"

Marty nods hastily. Nate gets up, "Alright. Then I get him for you."

"Oh, I can...," Marty means to say, but the psychologist holds up his hands, "You look out the window a while longer. I'll be right back."

"Okay," Marty smiles feebly before his eyes drift off to the window again. Nate smirks faintly as he exits. He makes his way over to Hetty's desk, where she and G are seated. Callen nervously palms the cup of tea, looking as though he is about to break it in half. His lips twitch nervously, the shoulders hunched. Upon hearing footsteps, the agent turns his head.

"How's Marty?" he breaks out, instantly up to his feet.

"He's calm now," the psychologist assures him, holding up his hands reassuringly. "And he is responsive."

"So he didn't have to take anything?" Callen asks. After the nightmares decreased, Marty was actually fine without any medication, something both were more than relieved about. After all, Marty always refused taking medication out of the fear to become a vegetable. Even though Callen would understand that Marty might want to take a pill to forget about all this here. G would like to take it, too. Just forget everything, go to sleep, and wake up once this is all over. Painless. Numbing.

"No, not yet anyways. I mean, it might become necessary once he goes to sleep, but we will have to see," Nate replies. That was actually one of his biggest concerns once he got the message from Hetty. Marty has certain habits and ticks to deal with trauma, but this is definitely a new level of trauma, since it's about the immediate reality and not _just_ memories haunting him, even if those are bad enough already. Nate had been prepared for anything, all the way to apathetic to thrashing on the ground, though he is glad that Marty is seemingly taking it better, which seems to be the result of the therapy and his great deal of trust and love he feels for Callen.

"That's at least something, huh?" G huffs weakly, running his hand over the back of his head.

"He is in a better condition than I had estimated," Nate nods. "He wants to see you."

And it doesn't take one more word as Callen literally flies past the psychologist. Nate simply let's eyes wander to him him as Callen rushes off. Hetty glances at him, "Aren't you going to go with him?"

"Those two need a moment for themselves," Nate smirks.

"Good, then we may share one also and have a cup of tea?" Hetty says, pushing a new cup across her table. Nate sits down where G sat before, taking the cup.

"One should always drink in company, right?" Nate winks at her.

"Oh, not just drink, Mr. Getz. Generally, isolation is so awful," Hetty replies.

"Right, no one should be alone," Nate agrees, raising his cup. She holds hers out also, "On that those two won't be alone, ever again."

"Cheers to that," Nate agrees, hastily taking a sip.

* * *

Meanwhile, Callen hastily made his way down the hallways to now squarely stand in front of the door to the room where Marty is still glancing out the window. Callen sucks in a deep breath before he enters. Marty quickly turns around ot meet G's eyes, and the man could leap over in relief that the teenager's eyes are no longer this milky shade of almost grey, but are brightly blue again.

"Hey," the older brother says, his eyes glued to those of the younger brother.

"Hey," Marty replies faintly.

"My dad's back," he says after a while, his voice no more than a whisper.

"Yeah," Callen nods sadly.

"There, I've said it," Marty shakes his head. He said it, he said it to G. Now it's reality. It's real, no longer any way to claim this as fiction.

"Still sounds surreal," Marty sighs, his chest heaving.

"I feel the same," G admits. The teenager nods absently before he walks over to the small couch and flops down on it. He doesn't even have to make a gesture or say a word, but G knows that he is supposed to join him, so the older brother sits down next to the teenager.

"I didn't want it to be real. That's why I couldn't say it," Marty admits. "I thought it wouldn't be real if I... if I just bypassed it... it's not because I didn't want to talk to you, but... I just couldn't... say it."

"That's okay, Marty," Callen assures him quickly. Marty leans his head against Callen's shoulder wordlessly. Callen says nothing either, so the two brothers stay like that for a while, simply let the silence soothe them both. It's simple, a simple gesture, but to them, it still means the world.

"... how do you feel about this?" Marty asks suddenly, his eyes ahead, but his voice calm, not aloof.

"I want to kill him," Callen shrugs.

"I mean... about seeing him," Marty goes on.

"Well, once I see him, I will surely fight any urge not to kill him," G tells him.

"I'm scared to come face-to-face with him," Marty admits. "But this will be the first time you'll see... your dad, too."

Callen blinks. It's actually something he pushed far back inside his mind. Once Marty came clean to him about what he did to the teenager, G wanted to forget about it altogether, that he is related to that bastard. And now, now that he had to tell Marty, Callen ignored again that this means that he will come face-to-face with... his father. Even if he doesn't like it who that man is and what he did to Marty, it's still a part of his past that he didn't know about, and tried to recover for many years, searching his roots, his origins.

"I don't know," Callen admits. "I know I hate him for what he did... so this won't be a happy reunion, that much is for sure."

"Yeah," Marty sighs, his chest heaving.

"So you really want to do this? Meet up with him?" Callen asks tentatively. "Because you don't have to."

"I don't _want_ this, but... that is the option I choose," Marty replies. "And I want it to be over as soon as possible. Better today than... any other day."

"Today already?" Callen grimaces.

"This will bring me nightmares anyways, but the anticipation of this moment will only make it worse," Marty tells him.

"And you're sure about this," Callen grimaces.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Marty nods.

* * *

Little time later, Hetty, Nate, Callen and Marty are on their way to the boatshed. They agreed that this might be a favorable option, because it's not invading what Marty considers his home, but it's still a place he knows and feels comfortable at, which means that he is in control. And that this is where the team brings the bad guys made it even more of a better option in Marty's opinion, even if he is sure that all this will be futile in the end. Once he comes face-to-face with his father, Marty won't have any control anymore.

He will simply endure.

They agreed on a meeting with Brandel, first without lawyers and the like. The hope is that he will agree to their offer, and then make it official with lawyers. That would be the end of it, even if all share this uneasy feeling that this won't be the outcome.

They get inside.

"It will be a few minutes until he gets here," Hetty tells them mutely after glancing at her phone.

"Okay, Marty, I remind you another time. Once he is here, you have to clearly state what is okay for you and what is not. If you want to leave the situation, you say so, or you gesture at us, we take you next door. You define the limits," Nate reminds him. Marty gives a nod, even though his neck muscles feel so tight that he is convinced they might just as well snap into two.

"So you're really sure? We can still have the lawyer here and we go up all the way to court. It's your decision, Marty, yours," G asks another time, putting as much strength into his words as he can. Because that is the only anchor he thinks he can offer his little brother now. That Marty is in charge of how to handle this. Because it's his life, no matter who is behind that door. G knows that everything else lies in ruins for Marty at this moment, but perhaps the teenager can gain some confidence, some strength out of this. It's his life. Callen will make sure that it stays that way.

Marty understands it, even through the haze inside his head. He gets it that his brother says so to offer reassurance – and it would have a greater effect if he didn't smell his father's cologne now again, or the blood mixed with it, or the booze, or the salt of his mother's tears. He wants to get his body and mind to understand the message, the message he thought he had finally drilled into his brain, but it's all gone now, except for the one anchor he really has, G.

"I'm sure. I just... want this to be over. And... if we can settle this differently, then we should," Marty tells G with as much power as his shaking voice allows him. Because he is different than his father. Because he can solve something without using his fists. He is another person, a different person. And Marty doesn't want his anger and resent to get the better of him. There is no peace, he knows that, but if there is a chance of a truce, a ceasefire, that's okay.

He shot him once, Marty doesn't want to shoot him again, unless he makes him.

"Okay," Callen breathes, honestly amazed at where Marty takes that power from and brings it all the way into his eyes.

"Fuck," Marty brings out, bowing over to take a few deep breaths to force his lungs to fill with oxygen again. His chest burns, everything burns in that angry shade of red.

Callen, not knowing what else to do, pats him on the back affectionately, "You'll be okay, Marty. We're here. Nothing's gonna happen to you."

Marty nods, trying to hammer it back into his brain another time. He is just panicking. That is normal. Panic is normal.

"Take a few deep breaths," Nate coaches him. Marty nods as he starts to take deeper breaths, suck in oxygen, make the red fade back to blue.

"Think of the ocean," Nate goes on.

Yes, yes, ocean. The ocean is blue. Blue is good, blue is cold, soothing, not burning, not angry.

"What number?" the psychologist asks.

"... seven," Marty grimaces.

"Okay, that's good. Keep breathing through your nose," Nate tells him. Callen keeps rubbing soothing circles on his back to help the teenager calm down.

"I don't know what's gonna be once I see him, though," Marty warns him. Honestly, he doesn't know what he will do once he meets that man's eyes. It could be total panic to peeing his pants to simply lunging that guy and punch him in the nose so hard that the blood will scatter everywhere.

"Whatever you feel or think is okay, Marty," Callen assures him.

"I don't know what I'm feeling right now," Marty shakes his head. No, there are just blurs of colors and distorted noises – and darkness, darkness looming above him, underneath him. Suddenly he sees the bars rising again, imprisoning him.

"That's okay also, buddy," Callen grimaces. But that is when Marty whips his head around towards the door.

"What is it?" G questions.

"... he still rides the same damn car," Marty shakes his head.

Some things just never change. Hopefully the same is true for his father.

"Let's just get over with this," he sighs. Marty turns to G to meet his eyes to show him that he means it. Because Marty does, or at least he wants to. Because he wants this to be over. And that only works if he opens that door, as it seems. It appears almost ironic that Marty left a door in the belief that this would put an end to his suffering. And now he has to open one to do it? That just seems so wrong.

No, it _is_ wrong.

"Then let's... let the lion into the arena," Hetty mutters as she makes the first steps to the door. "Oh, and Mr. Deeks?"

Marty blinks at her.

"If he moves just the wrong way... I always have more than one weapon on me, ready to shoot," Hetty smirks at him mischievously. Marty chuckles softly.

"So do I," Callen snickers uncomfortably and Marty rewards him with the broadest smirk he can muster, though it comes out rather crooked. Marty nods at Hetty as she walks away to open the door while G keeps a supportive hand on the teenager's shoulder. However, as footsteps come closer, both brothers tilt their heads.

That doesn't add up.

And that is when Hetty comes around the corner, followed by a middle-aged man about Callen's size with greyish sideburns, the hair otherwise a dirty kind of blond and combed back, the face is haggard with a light tan, cleanly shaven, his eyes are almost grey, cold, narrow. He wears an olive dress shirt with dark blue jeans and broad leather belt and brown leather shoes.

However, much to their surprise, another person approaches – which explains the not adding-up footsteps.

"Mr. And Mrs. Brandel," Hetty grimaces, puckering her lips. She keeps her voice low, but not as low as she'd usually. Because if this wasn't what tactic would demand, Hetty would just go ahead and punch that man in the groin. However, over the years of work as a spy, she learned the arts of "to grin and bear it". She dealt around with terrorists and murderers, then such a pathetic figure as she takes Marty's father to be one won't be a bigger problem.

And that is when the other person comes into view. A younger woman with curvy blonde hair, dark blue eyes, light skin, thin lips, high cheekbones, and long neck. She is very slim and a little shorter than her husband. She wears a dark blue dress with light blue pigeons as a pattern. The dress has short sleeves and a rectangular cleavage, ending just below the knee. She wears white slippers with low heels. She searches Marty's eyes, but the teenager just stands there as she breaks out in tears.

Callen tilts his head. He thought the father was coming alone.

"Oh my God!" she cries, hastily wiping the tears away, stepping closer to him, hurriedly, to crouch in front of him. Callen can feel every of Marty's muscle protesting as the woman actually wraps her arms around him to pull him into an embrace. Marty just stands there, glances past her, through her.

"Oh, Marty! We gotcha back, baby! We missed you so freakin' much," she mutters as she pulls away to look at him.

"Obviously," Callen snorts.

"Mr. Callen," Hetty warns him silently. They have an agenda, after all. And that doesn't help anyone. G bites the inside of his cheek to keep the other nasty comments from spilling out. That is when the father steps over, rather uncertainly actually.

"Hey, it's good to... see you, son," he mutters. Marty says nothing, just looks.

"Now, Mr. Brandel, Mrs. Brandel. I told you that we wanted to explain the details to you once we have all people in one room. But first of all, let me introduce you, this is Mr. Nate Getz, Martin's psychologist," Hetty tells them, pulling the parents away from Marty, something he is more than glad for.

"Psychologist? Why does he need a psychologist?" Mrs. Brandel gapes at Marty, but Hetty intervenes, "Everything in due time. First of all I also want to introduce you to Special Agent G Callen."

"The agent who took our son in, right?" the father frowns. So CPS didn't give that away yet? That is surprising, but Callen is actually glad that the father is the one looking uncertain now.

"Well, you might not be aware of this, but Mr. Callen is actually... your biological son," Hetty goes on to explain.

"What?!" the man gapes, shocked.

"Martin let us know that you did sperm donation during your college times. As far as we know, Mr. Callen's mother had your sperm donation to have a child," Hetty explains.

"Oh... wow... I mean, that comes as a shock," he grimaces.

"Tell me about it," G snorts. The other man seems to get the message, however, and rather keeps a distance. At some point Callen was afraid that his father would actually try to come closer to him, possibly hug him, and that made bile rise in his throat.

"When we found Martin, Mr. Callen, as his half-brother took him in, and is now his legal guardian," Hetty goes on.

"But we are Marty's parents," the young woman insists, grasping her neck nervously.

"That is of course true, but Martin told us that you _separated_ and therefore we thought there wouldn't be any so such contact anymore," Hetty replies. She tries really hard not to say what she means to say, but she knows what is on the line, and throwing accusations around won't help anyone other than herself, perhaps.

"I hope you understand that this is a very difficult situation for all of us now, Mr. Brandel, Mrs. Brandel. We believed that there was no longer any contact, which is why we sought to make Mr. Callen Martin's legal guardian, for the sake of his well-being," Hetty goes on.

"But how did you even find him?" the blonde woman asks hesitantly.

"There was a shoot-in with a Marine who has been _with_ Martin during the time. I won't go into detail now, since it is a very complicated and private... matter, and I think it wouldn't be proper for this kind of situation just now, since there is obviously more important things to settle first. In brief, we ran a DNA scan, out of routine, and it matched Mr. Callen's, which is also in our system. It became clear that they are half-brothers, which is why Mr. Callen agreed to take care of him. That has been a few months ago. Since then, Mr. Callen has taken care of Martin. They live together and Martin is following his educational career with our aid as well as his therapy with Mr. Getz," Hetty goes on.

Marty still stares at the two people in front of him, with a mixture of anger, mistrust, and confusion. The words just won't come out. The thoughts won't either. Marty just sees blurs of lightly blue pigeons roaming around his head in a darkening halo, with a set of grey, steel-grey eyes looming above him like sun and moon at the same time, without granting any light, however.

"I see...," his father swallows thickly.

"Oh, my poor baby," the mother whimpers, wanting to hug her, but this time Marty draws away.

"Honey, I...," she frowns, but that is when Callen speaks up, "Due to some experiences he had to go through when living in the streets, he doesn't like being touched at certain times, especially when he's stressed, so... it would be better not to touch him now."

"Baby, there's nothing to be afraid of, momma's here," she coos. But Marty withdraws further, standing so close to Callen that he can feel him pressing against his leg.

"Honey, it's just me...," she mumbles, but then turns to Callen. "But he's having body contact to you."

"He's used to me more than to you... right now...," G grimaces,. He really has to fight hard to say the last part. Marty is more used to him because he cares for him, because he is there for him, because he, as his older brother, took care of him and loves him.

_Figures that he doesn't want to be near you. Ha! _

"Oh baby," she sighs, her eyes almost teary again.

"May I ask for your intentions here now?" G breaks out. He just can't stand this anymore. He wants to know what this is about, what they want, so he can work on a strategy, so that he can finally end this ordeal for Marty. Because Callen is more than afraid that the teenager will break down completely if this meeting isn't ended any time soon.

"Pardon?" the father blinks at him incredulously.

"What exactly do you want?" G asks again, his face a straight line.

"Well, obviously... we want to take him back home. I thought that was clear," the man grimaces.

"No way," Callen hisses. Till last he didn't think the man would dare to go that far. Till last... he hoped the man was sane enough to simply shut up, give his blessing, and let both his sons live their life without him. But no, of course not.

Of course it can't be easy.

Of course it has to be hurtful.

Destiny is such an evil witch at times. An evil witch that paints tattoos in invisible black ink on teenagers who only deserve feathery touches and their dreams becoming true.

"Look, I appreciate it that you took such good care of Marty for us, but I think you must've misunderstood something. We have any intention to take our son back home with us. We've been sick in fear for him, and that we take him back is not up to discussion, really. Marty's our son, as are you, but he's still underage, which means that we decide for him," the father says, unnaturally calm.

"The hell you do," Callen shakes his head. "Now, _you_ look, okay? We agreed to this meeting to settle this peacefully, but there is no way Marty returns to you, to be clear with you."

"What?" the wife blinks at him.

"We know what you did to Marty, okay? He's told us," Callen snarls.

"What did we do?" the woman frowns. And it takes all of G's powers not to just draw his gun and end them both, but instead focuses on the father again.

"You beat him all this time and when he ran away, you didn't even bother about him for four friggin' years! And now that he's finally built up something to have normalcy, you come here destroy that for him?! That's not happening. He is my brother. I take care of him – and our hope is that you agree to this, in Marty's interest," Callen tells him, calmer than he expected it, actually, though it still comes with venom.

"Son...," the man mutters, but G is having none of it, "Let's not even go there. It's Callen for you."

When the man came in, G was hesitant for a second, considered if he could regard this man his father, but now he knows, and that decision is final: That man might be his biological father, but he is not his father, not his dad, he won't ever be. And that man stopped being Marty's father long time ago.

So yes, he hates him.

Those are rotten roots.

Those are the roots you have to cut off so that the tree can survive.

And Callen always had a knife ready to strike.

"Okay, _Callen,_ then. I appreciate your concern for your brother, but Marty will come back to where he belongs, and that is with his _actual_ parents. I see what it looks like, but... Marty misunderstood many things," the father goes on. Callen bites the inside of his cheek so hard that he can taste copper on his tongue.

"Yeah, I bet your fist in his face was just a clap on the shoulder that ended up in the wrong place, and with the wrong force," G huffs.

"I will not justify myself for this, because it's wrong," the man snorts.

"Yeah, I bet the injuries from over the years on Marty's body are just... _accidents_ also," Callen snorts, the hairs in his neck standing up like needles.

"I don't know what you are talking about," the man holds up his hands defensively. "He always was a wild child and he hung around with shady people. I don't deny that I may have slapped him in the face a few times, something that I'm honestly sorry for, but what you have in mind is simply wrong."

"Mr. Brandel, that is really going too far for the first meeting," Nate interrupts.

"What? He accuses me of...," the father means to argue, but Nate doesn't let him, "As Marty's therapist, I ask you to stop right there. You are hurting him with that, so stop, for the sake of his well-being already."

"I am sorry for what I did, but I won't just let someone who wasn't even there judge me for it," Mr. Brandel argues.

"Marty was there," G hisses.

"And he was a child," the man replies.

"Yeah, he was a _child,"_ Callen mutters.

Marty was only just a child.

And still his father did the unthinkable to him.

And let the unthinkable happen to him in that ring.

That is not just imagination.

Not just childish lies to escape punishment.

That is truth, as painful as it is.

Marty was only just a child, and that man took it away from him.

G steals another glance at Marty because the teenager didn't react to any of this. After all the fight Marty put up to claim stake on his life again, Callen expected the teenager to freak out upon hearing that, upon hearing his father claim all of it to be a lie. But...

Nothing.

Marty just stands there.

Stands there and stares.

"Look, here is what happened. Marty ran off after an argument and we couldn't find him for all this time, but we forgave him and we hope that he'll forgive us, too, that's all that counts. Now we just want him back, to be a family again," the father goes on.

"He didn't run off after an _argument,_ he ran off after he shot you in self-defense and you allowed him to be put into a temporary foster family that treated him badly," Callen corrects him. He can't believe this. This is even more of a joke than is the reality that this man wants to take Marty away from him. Now he even denies this on tops of everything.

How little can a father care about his child?

How little can be left of one's humanity to do that?

Callen hopes he'll never find out.

"As I said, a simple argument that escalated. But I forgave him that he shot me. There is no longer any reason to hide in the streets because of feeling guilty, Marty," the man tells him, now turning to Marty. Callen blinks incredulously.

This can't be happening, can it?

How can that guy actually say that with a straight face?

"Uhm, Mr. Brandel, with all due respect, we should not push around guilt in whatever the way," Nate intervenes. "Especially since this was hardly Marty's fault."

"Exactly, it wasn't his fault. It was mine. I was careless that I didn't realize he had this gun and that I didn't properly secure my gun locker," the man goes on. "That was on me."

"What about beating _her_ up, then?" Callen snorts, nodding at the blonde woman in front of him. "How did the not properly secure gun locker do the damage to her, huh?"

"I had too many drinks that night," he admits. "We had an argument. It was stupid. I pushed her around and she hit the table with her temple and... bled. It was horrible, and to the day I regret it."

"But I forgave him. It was an accident," the woman agrees. "It must have looked differently to Marty. It was an accident that I fell. When he saw the blood, he just... freaked. And that is when he got the gun and... God, I'm so sorry for that, honey."

She blinks at Marty with tears in her eyes, but the teenager ignores her. If possible he sees right through her, past her dress, the skin the organs, all the way to the back of the wall, if not further.

"As I said, I was the one who made this terrible mistake that tore our family apart. I let myself go, drank too much... I wasn't Marty the father he needed and deserved, neither was I the husband my wife deserved. But I'm sober now. I... I worked on myself, so that it never happens again," Marty's father goes on.

"Mr. Brandel, even though I find it great that you seemingly dealt with your issues, don't you think it's a bit rash to just bring Marty out of his routine?" Nate jumps in. "He lived with Callen in a few months now. As his psychologist I cannot recommend that he is ripped out of his routine, especially since he expressed his wish not to return to you."

"But we are his parents," the mother insists.

"There was a clear trust break, Mrs. Brandel, and that can't be undone. So I implore you not to rush Marty into this. We wanted to meet up with you to maybe figure out a way to answer both your needs to see Marty as well as Marty's wish to stay with Callen," Nate goes on.

"We want him back home, and that decision is final," the man replies sternly.

"It's not final to me," G snarls in a low voice.

"I hoped that we could settle this without this kind of trouble, but... we want Marty back, even if that means going to court," the father goes on, not wavered in the least.

"Oh, I'm _totally_ looking forward to that, to uncover all the shit you've done. You'll land in prison for all of it, you'll finally get to pay. You wanna play this game, well, count me in. Really, I can't even wait," Callen huffs, narrowing his eyes at the man threateningly.

"Marty...," the father means to say, but that is when Hetty is blocking his path, "I think it's now time that you left, Mr. Brandel. Your presence is no longer appreciated here. We will see you in court, then."

"Most certainly. Good day, Ms. Lange, Mr. Getz, Callen. Marty? We'll see each other soon again," the father says.

"Love you, honey," the mother tells him, waving her hand at Marty, fresh tears welling up.

"C'mon," the man barks, which is only proof to anyone else in the room that this man didn't change by only just an inch. With that the two leave the boatshed. Callen still stares at the spot where they stood, not believing it.

"I will call the lawyers immediately. We have no time to lose," Hetty declares, her voice full of venom, but with newly gained resolution. She leaves the room to give the three some privacy, figuring that she can't help on the emotional level much anyways, so Hetty rather does what she can help with, to organize help, to figure out a strategy. She is a planner. And Hetty already has a plan in mind – to kick that man's ass.

Once she is outside, Callen steals glances at his younger brother, who stayed completely unresponsive throughout the whole encounter. At some point G had honestly expected Marty to react in some way, but the boy just didn't. And that scares him all over again. G hoped that the teenager had snapped out of this stasis by now, but after that revelation, the older brother can't really blame him that he wants to simply... say nothing. Because he doesn't really know how to put that into words either.

Callen and Nate exchange a look, and the psychologist understands what the agent tries to tell him, so Nate gets in front of the teenager.

"Marty? Can you tell me a number? Where are we at?" Nate asks tentatively. Marty doesn't respond, but walks ahead instead, a little over to the windows, to start pacing. Callen shoots Nate another desperate glance, but the psychologist gestures at G to stay calm and let him handle this. Nate gets back up and makes his way over to Marty another time, though he keeps a bit of a distance so that he can go on walking in that imaginary circle he outlines with his footsteps.

"If you don't want to talk again, that's fine, but could you gesture me a number?" Nate asks quietly. Marty just shrugs his shoulders.

"If you don't know yet, that's okay. You have a lot to process," Nate assures him. "So just take a moment to focus, okay? Take a few deep breaths if that helps you. We are here. You'll be okay. Breathe."

"Right, breathe it away," the teenager mutters. However, that is when Marty suddenly starts to laugh hysterically. G stares as his brother goes on pacing, but laughing, loudly. Nate walks back over to the older brother.

"What the hell is that?!" G asks quietly, though he has to try hard not to just go ahead and shake Marty so that he stops, because this is just... wrong on so many levels.

"Shock. He is simply overwhelmed that he doesn't know how to react to that. He'll come down soon," Nate whispers.

"What do we do?" G asks.

"We wait till he comes down," Nate shrugs. Sadly, there is nothing much they can do other than that. Even if Marty is responsive in that he understands what is going on around him, he is too far out of it to know what exactly this is or how to react properly. And until he isn't back, there is nothing they can do for him.

G watches in honest terror as Marty goes on pacing and laughing, holding his stomach as his body keeps shaking the giggles out of him. What makes it torture to Callen is that Marty's laughter, even if it resembles the real one a lot, sounds so wrong and shrill in his ears that Callen would rather cover them and run for cover. He can hear the pain in every single heave of Marty's chest. And that even though he loves Marty's smile so incredibly much.

"Hey!" Marty suddenly speaks up, looking at the two, stuttering as he meets their eyes though. "Can... can you..."

He breaks out in laughter again.

"What is it, Marty? Anything we can help you with?" G asks hopefully.

"I got a... I got a question for you," Marty manages to say, but then starts to laugh hysterically once more, though it comes out more and more strained as his lungs protest.

"Sure, ask whatever you want," Callen assures him. Marty opens his mouth to say something, but then snaps his fingers, starting to laugh all over again, one hand on his knee to steady himself.

"Sorry," he snickers.

"Take your time," Nate tells him. Marty straightens back up, though he always has to puff so that he doesn't start laughing hysterically all over. He holds up his finger, probably as a gesture to get attention. Tears stand in his eyes, and they just seem so far out of place on that smiling face he wears, this mask, because behind it one can see the black ink again, screaming for help.

"Okay, okay... huh, uhm... alright, so my question...," Marty stutters, chuckling after almost every word. Callen breathes hard against the pain welling up in his chest.

"Can either one of you... Can either one of you... perhaps... tell me... who... who the hell that was?" Marty brings out, before he goes into yet another fit of laughter.

"Who?" Nate frowns.

"That... that lady that hugged me and called me 'honey'," Marty shrugs, still chuckling, his chest heaving, however.

"Your... mother," Callen grimaces. What the hell?

Marty just starts laughing again.

"Why?" Callen asks.

"Well, uhm, if that is her, then this is... wow, neat trick," Marty snickers, a lone tear running down his cheek, creating a translucent scar.

"What do you mean, Marty?" G questions.

"That Lady can't be my mom, at least... I thought so. I mean... My mom died some two years ago... as far as I know, so... who the hell was that Lady wearing her dress and her perfume, hugging me and calling me 'honey'? Can either one of you tell me? Who was that?" Marty asks, the smile washed from his face as more tears come. The invisible ink smudges over his face, painting him black.

And Nate and G are just bound to stand there and stare.

Who was that?

What is this?

And what do they do now?


	37. What is Real?

Author's Note: Thank you, thank you, thank you for the absolutely awesome feedback! I was so anxious that the twist with the mom would be too obvious or too stupid, so I'm actually glad that I caught some of you off-guard with that revelation.

Sorry for the long update-time... it just wouldn't go forward.

I know that the last chapter was a bit lengthy, but I didn't want to chop it into two chapters, or else the dynamic would have been a little lost in my opinion, though I will try to keep it at the normal length now again ;)

As always, your reviews are awesome and that is why they are ever so welcome.

Read, review, and hopefully enjoy ;)

* * *

Nate and Callen are still bound to stare at the teenager whose eyes are erratically searching for a fixed point to push the blurs out of his sight, his mouth nervously flexing between smile and cry.

Callen honestly thought that the worst case scenario was that this man would try to get Marty back, take him away from him. As it turns out, there is actually an abyss below that abyss – that someone is acting as Marty's mother, apparently, for whatever the reason, and that she along with that man is trying to get Marty back, taking him away from Callen. If G had known that this would be the outcome, he would have gotten tickets to Tahiti in no time to spare Mary this kind of hell. Because the hope was after all to spare Marty going to court, settle his stay with his older brother without judges and witnesses. And now... now it's hell warmed over.

G already means to say something as Marty breaks out in laughter again, going on with the pacing, but this time he goes on rambling, "That's... that's smart. So fuckin' smart. That I didn't think of this. Goodness sake. That is, wow, didn't see that one coming. Obviously."

He taps his index fingers against his temples.

"He's screwing with my mind! That's it! That's it! He's screwing with me! He's... right inside my head. He wants me to go insane, that must be it. Make me a nutjob after he failed to do that before. I mean, he does the same thing he did last time, but just... better! Ha! I mean, look at me now, right? I mean, I'm a nervous wreck! And it's so friggin' smart, right? Right?" he turns to G briefly, but only turns the direction without taking any notice of his brother actually being there.

"I mean, he's always been smart. That was the problem. Even as a drunkard he was smart. He is really this mean kind of smart. Evil smart, but this here... this is plainly... it's genius! Right?! Because now I go ahead and ask myself if I'm wrong. And that means I won't bother about anything else. And that means he gets to me. He gets inside my head. And that means it's... it's all over, pah! That is, wow, he should write a book about this!" Marty lets out a dry laugh, but then stops for a moment as yet another realization creeps its way into his brain, drills holes to seep through, sink in and grow tendrils to extend further.

What if...

What if that is actually not it?

What if... what if it's not him?

What if this is...

True.

"I just don't know anything anymore! Coz she looks just like her. I mean, first moment I thought it _was_ her... it _might_ be her! If only for her voice and that tone and that twinkle in her eyes... but I mean, people change, seemingly. As much as I wanted to believe that they don't. Maybe she's just... she just came back changed... from the dead," the teenager goes on with his rant.

Maybe Marty is just seeing things all over, right? Like the flashbacks, the dreams of obscure red and feelings he can't put into words. Maybe that was actually reality calling. Maybe this here is not real, maybe he isn't even real, or at least not real in the light Marty bathed himself in, the light of hope, the light that made him lighter, better. Maybe Marty is not whom he claims to be.

Maybe they are all right.

The judge.

The police officers.

The foster family.

His father.

His mother – whoever that is now.

Maybe they were all right: he is just a bloody little liar.

And maybe the biggest coup just started, because Marty lied so well, so persuasively that he actually started to believe it himself.

Did he lie to himself long enough to make himself believe in a false reality where his mother died, though she did not?

Where he shot his father, though it was an accident?

Where he ran away from a family he thought was out to kill him when in fact this family just wanted to fix things – and was on the way to?

Perhaps he is the only mastermind here, but got beaten in his own game.

Marty keeps pacing, his muscles no longer listening to his commands. His entire body feels numb, numb from the pain and sorrow pulling him down, numb from the sheer fear and the tendrils drilling further into his brain, making him voice what he thinks before he can even think about what Callen and Nate may make of it. Because at this moment, he just honestly doesn't care, can't care. He is no longer in charge of anything. He lost control. And he is that close to losing reality, too.

"I mean, maybe that's just it! That might be, right?! Maybe I'm just seeing things! Right, I'm just seeing things! I imagined all this shit! My dad's never beaten me! My mom didn't get the shit beaten out of her! I mean, I seemingly shot him, but that was just because I misunderstood everything! It was all an accident! I misinterpreted everything and made a huge fuss over nothing! It was me who made the family tear apart! That foster dad never had to do with my dad! And that he slapped me across the face was actually a way of showing affection! Maybe I wasn't even in the streets... or... in the ring... maybe none of this ever happened... and was just inside my head. I just saw things... I... none of it was real... none of it... I'm just... ha," Marty goes on, his chest heaving. The corners of his mouth go up and down, torn between the desperate smile and the even more desperate sadness that will allow the tears to fall.

None of it was real.

He is not real.

Everything before was just a dream, meeting G, being with G, having a new life, a better life. Its all something he bred out inside his wanton imagination. That must be it.

Callen and Nate both look at Marty, thunderstruck. That the teenager calls such a thing into question shows just how deep that wound goes, just how deeply embedded those fears are into his very soul. It runs so deep that his entire picture of reality crumbles before his eyes, so far that he throws any progress he made in therapy, any understanding, any admission of what happened to him overboard.

However, that is when Callen is simply fed up watching his little brother tearing himself to shreds before his eyes. He approaches Marty and gets into his path of pacing. The teenager only stops once he is inches from his brother, who, ever so simply, just pulls him into an embrace and holds on tight. Marty's body is rigid against that of the agent, but after a few seconds, he just sags together against G's chest, all powers leaving him.

And the tears finally come.

Because this must be real, right?

You can't imagine the sensation of an embrace in such perfection, or can you?

The warmth, the texture of the fabric, the touch of the skin, the warm breath against your scalp.

The love.

You can't dream it that perfectly, right?

_Right_?!

Marty screws his eyes shut even more, pulling closer. He just prays that this is not a dream he will wake up from. That this is reality, or that even if it isn't, he can dream on a while longer.

Forever, hopefully.

They stay like that for a while. The older brother gently rocks Marty in his arms, hoping that this will somehow hush the pain away, make the tears stop. At some point, Callen can feel his brother sagging further and further together, the pressure and emotions seemingly having reached the point where Marty's body just quits.

"C'mon, let's get you to the couch," G mutters as he halfway drags Marty over to the sofa. The teenager almost falls on it. His body feels so dead on the inside, on the outside. Everywhere. Nowhere. If not for G and the rest, Marty would feel just as hollow as he did when he first met them, after the Marine was shot. Marty felt so, so hollow, so empty. And the teenager hoped that he'd never have to go back to that state where he was just good for getting beaten around, doing what no child should ever do, thinking what no child should ever think, and had only a snotty mouth to keep that scaffold he was upright, to keep himself from collapsing.

If that even happened...

Ever...

Marty regains some of his composure a while later when it really sinks in for him that Callen and Nate are next to him, that they hear everything he breed out inside his drilled brain. He angrily rubs his sleeve over his eyes to push the tears back that threaten to well up again. That's what he hates about tears, once they come, they come again and again.

"Damn," he mutters, resting his forearms on his thighs so he now sits hunched over. For some reason, he finds that position exceptionally soothing. It's like his back is a cocoon engulfing him, shielding him off of the reality. Even if, deep down, he knows that it is just like not saying it out loud. It doesn't change anything about the reality, whatever that is now, but...

But it feels nice. And so damn real that it might be, right?

"Marty?" G asks tentatively, one hand still steadily on his little brother's shoulder to offer support. The teenager looks at him, and actually looks at him this time.

"You know that this happened, okay? Don't let him make you question that, ever," Callen tells him. Of course a part of him always wished for all of it to be a bloody lie. That Marty was never forced through such hells, through those tiny holes of darkness that tore parts away from him that only slowly, very slowly, made their way through those eyes of needles back to him. However, G learned that no matter how terrible it is that this happened to his brother, it's even worse to deny it and act as though it never happened. Because it happened. And for as long as you don't realize that, there is no way for you to mend this, sew the pieces back together.

However, now to see Marty pulling on those strings, tearing them back open like old wounds reopening, makes Callen sick to the stomach, and beyond. One instance, one thought is enough for Marty's entire world to crush and crumble, all the way to putting reality into question, all the way to where he didn't talk about anything or simply said something else to avoid the truth. Because they came such a long way already, and it angers and saddens the older brother that their father and Marty's suddenly back to life mother can undo all the patches he was able to apply.

"But what if he's right?" Marty asks. "What if I'm wrong?"

What if his father's reality is real while Marty's reality is no more than a dream?

"He is not right, okay? Why on earth would you run away if this was all just a bunch of accidents?" Callen argues vehemently, at some point unable but stare, because he never thought he would be in the position where he would have to... point that out... as a _reassurance._

This is just all so wrong.

The teenager shrugs his shoulders, "Misunderstandings happen."

"That was no misunderstanding," G shakes his head.

"How would you know?" Marty replies, his voice teary. "You weren't there."

No, because there is no one other than him and his parents who were part of this. They are the only witnesses, so how could G say with clarity that what Marty said before is true, while this is wrong? How can his older brother actually say that with so much clarity in his eyes when Marty just sees red fog and mist before his own?

"Right, I wasn't there when it happened, but I was there when you told me about it," Callen argues.

"What if I lied?" Marty huffs, another tear escaping his eyes.

"You didn't," G replies simply.

"How do you know?!" Marty demands, now in a louder voice. How does G know when Marty can't even tell anymore?! How can he claim this as reality when he might just as well be a figure of Marty's imagination?!

"Because I know you," his brother tells him in a strong voice. "I live with you. I know that this is real. I know that our meeting was and is real. I know that you were in that ring. We have seen the proof for it, sadly. Because those scars are there for a reason. As sad as it is, even that damn catalog you talked about exists as proof. This is not just something you made up. It is, sadly, reality."

And again, how can that be a reassurance?! How can this godforsaken picture, this catalog, all the scars and wounds Marty suffered at the hands of these men suddenly be a reassurance? Why does that have to serve as proof for a life that should contain so much more, and actually did when Marty was with the team, with him? Why can't that serve as proof? Why is that seemingly not enough?

"So what? The rest might be made up. Maybe I just ran away for no real reason after all and then ended up in the ring by mere chance," Marty retorts.

Fine, one bit of reality is real. Painful or not. Then the ring was real. Then maybe what happened after it was real, but what happened between his parents and him is on a different page, right?

"Marty, now look at me," the older brother demands. The teenager slowly searches G's eyes.

"I know you. And that's all I have to know to believe you," Callen says with determination. "You are right, I was not there when it happened, but I see you now in front of me, I got to know you, and Marty, you're many things, but not a liar."

"I kept things to myself. I kept things from you. I _did_ lie before," Marty mutters. As much as he wants to believe in G's words, absorb his determination into himself, he can't. Because he isn't innocent. Marty did things, said things, didn't do things, didn't do things.

"Everyone lies," Callen shrugs. "I lie, too. Even Nate lies, but that doesn't mean we are liars. And I know that you don't lie when you show just how much you care about people close to you. That is not an act, that _is_ you. You cared about your mother, and that is why you didn't run at first, you said. If there was no reason, you never would have run away, Marty. You care too much to just leave someone behind. The only way I see that you make a run for it is that you really saw no other way, because you feared for your life, because there was just no way out anymore. And that is something I know with absolute certainty."

Marty lets out a shaky breath. Is it possible that someone who didn't witness it... can still be right? Can G be right in his predictions, in his evaluation? He is an agent after all, right? G can read people like no one else. G read him when they first met. He knew that Marty didn't kill the Marine. If he is that damn good at reading people... then maybe Marty can trust his words after all?

"But what about her?" Marty grimaces. Because that is the one thing he can't move past. Then perhaps G is right and this happened, but how can all of it be true and still be wrong? Marty knows from logic that it's impossible for something to be the case while at the same time not being the case. It's either or. Either Marty just imagined or misinterpreted everything and this woman is indeed his mother. Or Marty didn't just imagine this and she is not his mother. She can't be both at the same time, just as he can't be right and wrong at the same time.

But what is it now?

Is she or is she not? Is he or is he not?

"... I honestly can't say, Marty. I believe you when you say that this is not your mother, but I obviously can't tell just by the looks," G argues. No, he can say with clarity that he believes Marty, he can say that this happened, because he knows his little brother, but he can't say that this woman is someone else because G doesn't know the original.

"Maybe _you_ can tell us what happened to her, though?" Nate suggests. "I know that you bypassed talking about her because it hurt you, but..."

"But it becomes kinda necessary now, doesn't it?" Marty sighs, letting out a shuddered breath. Callen goes on rubbing circles on the teenager's back to relieve some of the tension.

That just seems to be it, right? He has to come clean, say it, make it reality, and maybe saying it will fix it as such? Maybe it really works, for once?

"Sadly... it kinda does," Nate admits. He doesn't like to just open this box and let everything spill out uncontrollably. The psychologist knows how much of a struggle it was for Marty to even come clean to both him and Callen about the beat-up. His mother was a completely different story. Given that he thought she was dead, it stands ever the more to reason. After all, that means Marty was and probably still is in grief over his mother's loss, which made it impossible for the teenager to talk about this until now. And now to have her back in the flesh, or rather, have someone act like her, if it really is the case, is by far worse. However, Nate sees that regardless of the trauma, they have to think about the steps now to take, and figuring out the mystery behind that woman surely will be a great part of this. That means they may have to rush a few things he normally would have broken down into smaller segments, more bearable fragments. Nate doesn't want to lie to Marty. That is the last bastion. Marty trusts the psychologist not to lie to him, just as he trust Callen not to lie to him. That is the stone they have to build on, because that is the one stone they can set deeply into the ground – that is nothing anyone can take from them, not even such revelations, because it is something solely they can affect. And that is the only thing stable, at least at this point.

"What makes you think that this is not her?" Callen asks.

"... I don't know, she sounded differently. The voice, it's... mom's tone was softer and... the gestures are... I don't know. It's just tiny details, but she has the same hair color, she even smells like her, but... but that is not my mom," Marty shakes his head.

"She knew a lot about you," Nate argues.

"That doesn't mean anything," Callen replies. "Four years is a long time. If this woman is supposed to act like Marty's mom, then this is enough time to teach her everything... I mean, if she isn't..."

"If she isn't my mom after all," Marty nods.

"So back to your mom. You said you thought she was dead," Nate turns to the teenager.

"For all I knew she was," Marty nods.

"How did she die?" Callen questions.

"As far as I know... brain damage... she was in coma for some time...," Marty explains.

"As far as you know?" G can't help but grimace.

"I never saw her body. I... after I ran away, I kept a distance at first... from him, from her, this life, but... I wanted to get into contact with her after the first year, hoping that things had calmed down a bit... but I found out she was still with him, so... I broke it off before it even started. I wasn't willing to get back to him – or to have my mother lecturing me about how it'd be for the best if I came back and apologized to daddy...," Marty explains, nervously licking his lips. "I tried another time half a year later... I heard from a guy who owed me a favor for getting... uhm... his little brother out of a tough spot... that she had left him... and lived on her own now... so I wanted to contact her, but it took me some time to get an address... coz she tried to cover up for herself also, that smart she was by the time, seemingly. And for me as a homeless kid it was difficult to get information anyways, but... I did find the address, calling in a few favors and so on... I contacted her by phone and told her that I wanted to see her. She wanted to, too... It's just that it had to wait because I really wanted to be sure that this was not just one of dad's schemes to get to me, so I _investigated._ Once I had my confirmation that she lived there alone... I wanted to come to her and all... for a moment I really thought that we two could pull through, you know…? Like Ray and his mom did... But by then she was already in hospital with brain trauma, comatose... I sneaked into the hospital one day... one of the nurses knew me and... she was nice... so she told me about her status, without letting dad know... and that she'd most likely never wake up again... and guess who was the cause for that and got away with it..."

Marty grits his teeth, his knuckles turning white. It has to be him. It has to. If it happened the way he remembers, it must be his father who did this to her. Who else would, right? He did it before, he would do again, at least Marty believes that under the premise that this is real.

"So she was comatose," Nate nods. "But that doesn't mean someone is dead, right?"

"No, but I came by another time and that is when the nurse told me that she's passed away a few days back," Marty argues. "I mean, who lies about that, right? The nurse liked me. It's not like... why would she tell me my mom's dead, just for the fun of it? No one does that."

"Surely not," Nate agrees. "So... she was dead."

"She was dead, I grieved, and I was probably the only one. Because my mom was... she was alone," Marty tells them, his voice breaking with the last words. Because he left her alone in the end. He was the one who made that step out the door and left her, to death, pretty much. And even though he knows that he was not the one who did this to her, Marty still feels guilty. After all, he held on before, even through the worst of beat-ups. However, after he shot his dad, something simply broke inside of him, something that all the love he felt for her and he knew she felt for him couldn't mend or piece back together. Something was lost. With every time she did not leave her husband, with every beat-up she let happen to herself and to him, Marty, so he sees now, loved her a little less, like a part peeled away from the soul. And after so many beat-ups and so many false promises, Marty's love had shrunk far enough to make him cross the threshold and not look back, at least for a while. After all, Marty later saw that no matter how much hatred he felt for her, no matter how badly it burned beneath his skin, even that tiny bit of love for her was enough to make him continue to love her. But it seemingly wasn't enough to make her survive.

It wasn't enough to keep her safe.

"What do you mean with that?" Callen asks. _"Alone._ Didn't she get help from someone?"

"She had no one other than me, well, and dad before he revealed his true self. No one's bothered about her ever since she married my dad. Mom had no living relatives. She once told me that she used to live somewhere in the North before she moved to L.A. So when she came here, she knew no one and... she soon got to know my dad and fell in love with him. After that, he seemingly did anything to keep her small. She barely went out of the house, only to get the groceries and stuff. She was never over at neighbor's houses or at barbecues. She didn't even talk to some of the women when they told her to come over. Dad had her that much under control, at least as far as I got to know. Mom always said that it was just us three, or us two. And that was so," Marty explains. "And that's why no one... missed her, other than me. That is the only way I can understand this. I mean..."

"Do you know if she died in the hospital?" Callen asks tentatively.

"I don't know. Why?" Marty frowns.

"Well, if he really replaced this woman with your real mother, then it will be harder to do that in hospital. There is a bunch of paperwork and lots of witnesses. You think your dad may have had her moved back to his home?"

"Sure, why not? No one knew what was going on with them... and even though mom moved out, it doesn't mean she divorced him immediately. Then this would all look differently," Marty shrugs.

"Surely would," G nods.

"At least that's what I... believe. I mean, she... that is not her. I mean...," Marty stops, pursing his lips. The more he thinks about it, the more he starts to tell those two women apart. Because he can remember his mother. He remembers his time in the streets and how he tried to get back to her. He remembers how deeply he cared about her. So maybe G really is right. If he can remember all that, can remember it so well that he can feel the sensations as though they happened right now, can smell the same scents from back then... can his mind really be that full of imagination to create such clear pictures? Such a full reality? Because Marty can't help but think that remembering a dream feels differently from remembering reality itself.

"I mean... people change after a coma, I heard about that, but this is not about mood swings, it's... it's another person. I know my mom," Marty insists – because that is what he should. He should know his mom, right? The woman who bathed him, the woman who cooked for him, whose blood was smeared over his face more often than he'd like to admit, whose hand he held when she just broke down in the kitchen crying, whose kisses seemingly managed to hush some of the terror away, whose voice was his soothing lullaby, whose smile made the sun shine a little brighter. He knows what her skin feels like, how her shampoo smelled like, knows her perfume and how it scents once it comes into contact with her skin, creating a unique smell that made her inherently, well, _her._ That doesn't just wash away, not even the time in the ring erased those memories from his mind. Marty can still tell them all apart, can dissect them, call them to mind as though they happen at this very moment. However, when that woman embraced him, it didn't trigger any of those memories to come back to the surface. Nothing. There was just nothing. Faint specters of light, maybe, but no memories, no sense of familiarity. No sense of family. Just coldness and a distance that can only be felt when people hold you too close – because they are not close to you in any other way.

And maybe that is... proof? Maybe that is enough to make it reality for him?

"Of course you do," Nate assures him.

"He is right," Callen agrees. "You know her better than anyone else. She had only you and you had only her for a time. You know her."

"That's why I think dad's really that much of a sick bastard that he goes so far to exchange her for her," Marty admits. He honestly thinks that he is capable of that. Marty saw the bad in all those men's eyes who sold him and bought him. He saw the darkness in their irises. Because eyes are a way to look into one's soul. At least he sees it like that. And that is the same kind of darkness Marty got to know very early on, long before he called the streets his home and slept with only the sky as his blanket.

"What do you think, Callen?" Nate turns to the agent.

"As your brother, I believe you. As an agent, it's not impossible," G tells Marty, hoping that this actually helps in some way. Marty likes to look at things rather analytically at times. And that is what he sees in being an agent, so Callen hopes that by also speaking as an agent, Marty will understand that no one is trying to prove him a liar.

"Well, but that you believe me... doesn't prove anything, to a judge, or whatever," Marty snorts, because that is the other side of the coin. What is reality to him does not necessarily make it reality to anyone else. He learned that lesson long ago.

"Marty, there are ways to prove that, okay?" Callen argues.

"How do we prove that she is not whom she claims to be, huh?" Marty huffs, shaking his head.

"A DNA test," Callen shrugs.

"Those can be faked," Marty argues. Almost anything can be faked: prescriptions, death, bills, youth, beauty, smiles. You just have to find the right potion, the right mask to cover the deficiency or problem until you have a lump of clay you can form anew. You can even fake another woman's life, as it seems. All it takes is... what? The same hairdo, the same eyes, the same dress, and suddenly, it is her. Because that is what most people look at to tell a person apart from others, the looks. That's why we have ID's. You compare the picture to the person in front of you, and if it's close enough, that person is approved of her or his identity. As it seems, others decide who you are. They tell you apart from the rest by looking at the way you dress, the way you wear your make-up, how you do your hair. If that fits, the character doesn't matter anymore. Because the majority of people only knows you by the looks, and majority decides that this makes you _you _\- because it's enough, right? Because no one goes that far to get a new identity. That's just nuts and so outrageous that it is surely out of the movies. You look like that person in the photograph and that makes you that person. And so, this suddenly makes this woman Marty's mother.

Just that Marty is not the majority, sadly, and knows that other side of his mother, the side that you can't capture in a photograph or in the texture of a dress' fabric. He knows his mother's character, and that is what always made her _her_ in his opinion.

So this woman is not his real mother, he is sure now. She is fake.

But perhaps good enough a fake to pass as the original.

Because blurred photographs and faint memories do not count as valid evidence, cannot wash off that make-up, that masquerade, for the majority to see.

"We will do anything to make sure that they are not, but that's not the matter now, Marty. What matters is that we're not alone with this. We got the team behind us, we have Hetty. We will do anything to prove you right," Callen assures him. Because that is now the other priority besides making sure that Marty stays with him and kicking that man's ass – to finally give Marty the chance to prove his story, raise his voice and finally speak the truth that he was forced to keep quiet about for way too long already. Marty didn't want to put up charges to keep his father out of his life, but now the man is back, so that means the game is changed.

"I wouldn't give a damn if people still didn't believe my story," Marty brings out, his voice croaked.

"What do you mean?" G grimaces. After all, he remembers how Marty told him that it hurt him so, so much that no one would listen to him, that no one heard his voice.

"I couldn't care less if anyone in a courtroom believed my life story, but... but if those stupid people in a courtroom don't believe my life story... they will take me away from you and back to him," Marty brings out, pulling on his locks as hard as he can. "I don't wanna go back, G."

"I won't let him have you, okay?" Callen tells him with great resolution. There simply is no way that he can allow for Marty to be forced back into this man's hands, and taken away from his own.

"I just wanna stay here," Marty whimpers. All questions of reality shall be damned! Marty wants surfing, goofing around, having homeschooling with Hetty, folding origami cranes, beat Nell in that zombie video game, work out with Sam in the gym, run tracks with G early in the morning, when the sun is just about to rise and paints everything a warm shade of orange. He wants to go to sessions with Nate, even if they were all about his worst nightmares. He wants to babysit the girls, get glue one his hands to fix the diorama, and tell them stupid stories he just makes up to see them smile. Have movie nights with Kensi, go over comic books, drink ginger ale and learn how to throw knives. Have breakfast with G. What the telenovela with G. Tell him good morning and good night. Visit their sister's grave. Go shopping. Have a coffee. Sit at the beach and watch the sun disappear into the ocean. Get groceries. Fuss over yet another dinner his brother managed to burn beyond the recognizable. Crack a joke. Fall asleep next to G on the couch and feel his brother wrapping a blanket over him so that he doesn't freeze. Marty wants all of it. Because that is his life. And that life he finds good, that life he loves, so deeply, so dearly, so much that it tears him into tatters and shreds that this might be over. Marty just wants to live.

Is that really asked too much?

Is that bit of happiness really asked too much after all he went through?

When does whatever power it is that is turning and twisting his future the way it pleases fed up with him and moves to the next poor devil to screw up his or her life instead?

Why can't Marty have at least the ten good things he writes in his journal to counter the bad?

"We'll do anything to make sure that you can," Callen tells his younger brother, his voice quivering. G would love to firmly state that they will, it's all too tempting, it really is, but... but at this moment, this fear is shaking Callen so deeply, too, that promising such a thing would be more of a lie than a genuine reassurance. So he fights this urge and hopes that somehow this is worth the inner tremor. G would love to promise Marty the world, but all he can offer is... that they try.

And that is just so, so , so small.

Callen pulls his brother closer again, hoping that this will be bigger than the words of reassurance he can offer without lying to Marty. It just seems to be the only thing he can do, the only thing he has left at this moment to give to his brother. It was and still is Callen's last resort. Just hold Marty close and don't let go.

However, the questions are nagging at him already:

For how long do you think will that work?

How long do you think you'll hold him, huh?

What happens when you let go?

What will happen once you make one mistake that changes everything, so that they get to him?

How will you fix that mess? Or can you even?

What will become of you if he is gone?

_Once_ he is gone?

The taunting voices inside Callen's head make him pull Marty even tighter to him. G usually never feels scared. Not for himself. He never does on the job. Neither did he back at the CIA. By now he knows that he is scared for Marty's sake, for the sake of his well-being, but this kind of fear is even new to him. It reaches so much deeper into the soul, because for the first time in felt eternities, Callen honestly feels like there is nothing set anymore. Everything just shifted into a maze he can't set foot upon without having to fear to fall into the abyss below.

Even when there was that ambush on Sam's house and Callen got the info that Marty had been in that fight, almost getting killed, it was a different kind of fear, because hearing Marty's voice and seeing him could easily fix it, serve as a remedy, but here he sits and has his brother next to him, and it doesn't fix it.

When it is about injuries, G can still tell himself that there are doctors to fix it.

If it is about security management, he can fix it by getting a better alarm system.

If Marty has a panic attack, he can fix it by calling up Nate and help him fix it.

But here? Fine, they can call in lawyers, they will call in lawyers, but G doesn't have the feeling that they will miraculously fix everything for him. Or that they help him fix everything. Looking at Marty's story, it's just so awfully obvious that even a representative of the law, of the rules that bind all, can make the wrong decision, can... not care enough.

So yes, this is fear. And yes, this fear runs deeper than anything G has ever known, because it is... _existential._ He can't imagine his life, his existence, without Marty anymore. The mere possibility of that part missing, suddenly, bores tiny needles into his heart, over and over.

And Callen can just hope, or pray, even, that he will be proven wrong.

God, does he want to be proven wrong.

* * *

After a while, Marty's body makes the call for him – and he falls asleep on the couch, rolled up into a ball to protect himself from the outside world with his limbs, seemingly. His head rests on G's lap. It doesn't really come as a great surprise, though. After all, Marty just went through one hell after the other. At some point G was honestly surprised that Marty didn't just collapse while the two were still in that room. However, even in his sleep, Marty looks restless. It's as though all the stress, all the fears he was able to overcome since he came to stay with them here at the NCIS, swept back into his face, leaving marks which shouldn't be there, opened wounds that they all had carefully tended to, patched up, and healed.

Callen absently runs his hand over the teenager's head.

"This is officially the worst day of my life," G mutters in a hushed voice. Nate, who took a seat next to Marty, but leaving enough space for the brothers to have their bit of privacy, nods his head sadly.

"You don't come to have a fancy trick to fix all that, do you?" Callen sighs, even though he knows the answer already.

"I wish I did, I really do," Nate exhales.

"Do you think we could have prevented that in any way?" G questions.

"I think we shouldn't ask ourselves that question," Nate replies actually confidently. "In the retrospective it's always easy to say that this or that may have prevented bigger harm. That this sole event may have turned everything a different way. Maybe we could have bypassed this exact situation by seeking the adoption and not the legal guardianship. At the same time, this may have just as well resulted in that man coming back even sooner. We don't know. We won't ever. This happened, sadly, the way it did. Our task now is to prevent this situation to further develop."

"What do you think of the two?" Callen asks in a hushed voice. "Do you think they lie, as a psychologist?"

"I'm no walking lie detector. They were very confident in what they did. They didn't hesitate, you see," Nate shrugs. "And until Marty asked that certain question, I had no clue that this would be the outcome."

No, with all his years of experience, he never came across such a situation, that much is for sure.

"So you can't tell?" G grimaces.

"Oh, I know for sure that they are full of shit," Nate snorts, which actually brings Callen to smirk faintly. "I mean, the more I go over this situation, now in the light of what Marty told us... there were some hints, maybe. In the way they acted. But they were so faint that this wouldn't ever hold in court or so."

"Then how do you know they are full of shit?" G frowns.

"I already said it. I trust Marty's words. He is my patient. And I'm always on my patient's side. Plus... even if Marty tends to have a wanton imagination, I cannot even think that far to say that he just made this up. That's what I build on. That's what I have faith in. The rest... we just have to find proof for," Nate explains. Callen nods, it's nice to know that he is not the only one.

"Inside my head I had it all figured out, you know?" G sighs with a sad smirk tugging at his lips as he tousles the teenager's hair. "We finally wrapped up my last will... and even though I know that I wasn't supposed to plan too far ahead, I imagined it, you see? I wanted to get a bigger place for us, maybe a house or something. We even talked about driving lessons and that I'd pay his first car... he insisted that he pays for the driver's ed with his pocket money he saved up, and what he gets for babysitting and working as Hetty's assistant. I even looked for cars already, with Sam. I already looked at colleges and all those things... Inside my head... I had that future planned for us... and I tell you, it looked pretty damn good, but it seems so far away now."

"As your friend I would love to tell you that everything is surely going to be fine, but as your psychologist... I can only say that it will be a tough fight... one that may or may not end on a positive note," Nate tells him with a grimace.

"I just thought that if I try to make his life the best I can, by working my ass off to secure a future for him... I'd actually _secure_ it, you know? I really thought that living by it, living this happy life... it'd make a difference, but then reality just comes and smacks you across the face," the agent exhales. "And I just can't help myself but think that Marty really had enough of all of that. I mean, just how much is he supposed to go through to get a shot at... life?"

"Honestly, Callen, it's simply... unfair," Nate shrugs. And that is plainly the truth.

It's unfair.

Simply unfair.

No more words needed.

"I just have to find a way to fix this," Callen grits his teeth, balling his free fist. He just has to find a way to make these mocking voices inside his head shut up. He has to make Marty stay.

"Then you should do that," Nate replies suddenly.

"What now?" the agent frowns, to which the psychologist gives a shrug of the shoulders, "Callen, I know you. The only way for you to gain hope is to work on this, treat it like a case, and win it. So you should go ahead and do anything... to fix it."

"But what about Marty?" Callen argues.

"I will watch over him. Once he's slept, we might come back to the office, if he wants that. Look, unless you think this is helping _you_ in any way, this here won't solve the problem. The only way that we find a solution is... by searching for one. And I think that if someone is capable of finding the evidence we need to solve this... then it's you, right?" Nate tells him.

"I guess you're right," Callen sighs. Of course he would rather stay with Marty, and cherish every second of it – while not trying to think that taunting mock again, that sinister laughter:

Because it might be over soon.

It might be the last time.

"Okay... I'll... go... then," G grimaces as he gingerly takes Marty's head and lowers it back down on a pillow to make sure he is comfortable. Gladly, the teenager doesn't wake, but instead goes on with this halfway peaceful slumber. G carefully gets up, his eyes not leaving Marty just once. Callen stands like that for a few seconds before he tears his eyes away from his younger brother and turns to the door.

Nate is right. He can't linger in that moment forever.

He has work to do.

He has a future to put back in place.


	38. Visible

Author's Note: Holy Moly! I can't even tell you how thankful I am for your feedback and for the nice comments – it almost made me cry, okay, it did ^^

I apologize for the long update time, but I had some sorting out to do as to how I want to continue this story. I don't wanna mess this up, coz it's my baby.

*mini-spoiler* (don't like, don't read): On the account on law I make here... I'm still working my way through that topic. I'm no lawyer, and I won't make it the center of attention. I am still doing some research to have it halfway authentic, but I hope you see that this is not my main purpose and not my point, either. It's about the characters I seek to develop. So, lawyers or law-interested folks out there, please don't feel offended by inaccuracy.

P.S.: I added new sub-headlines for the chapters, I hope that's fine with my dear readership^^

As always, you reviews are utmost awesome, even if they make me cry, for they make me cry in joy – and therefore very welcome.

Read, review, and hopefully enjoy ;)

* * *

Once outside the boatshed, Callen quickly makes his way to the car, fighting any urge not to look back, because he is sure he would just go on sitting with Marty and hold him close. He rests his head against the steering wheel for a second, gripping it so tight so that his knuckles turn almost white. He sucks in some much needed air.

However, it is as Nate said – the only way to help this situation is to find a way to keep Marty, so the agent within him has to take charge of the situation again.

He has work to do.

G pulls himself up and starts the engine and speeds down the streets until the NCIS building comes into view. Callen feels a wave of relief wash over him at its familiarity. It means home, safety, and a computer system that will hopefully give him the much needed input to kick that man in the ass hard enough to make him leave the country. Maybe G can convince Hetty to run a background check on Brandel using Kaleidoscope. And even if not, he can at least gather all necessary information he has in the files on Marty, and then talk to a lawyer. Either way, he has to work this out. Callen exits the car and makes his way into the bullpen. The agent hurries to his desk and opens the drawers where he put all important folders and papers about Marty, CPS, and the like.

"Callen! There you are!" Kensi's voice suddenly rings out. G turns his head to meet the mismatched eyes of the female agent.

"Hey," he croaks as he straightens back up. Concern is written all over her face.

"I guess you already heard...," Callen grimaces.

"Yeah," she nods curtly, before clapping her hands together. "So, uhm... we already have Eric and Nell working on finding anything on the internet or whatever network we can get our hands on. Hetty is calling in some favors to get more information, and she is also talking to several lawyers for different perspectives. So, are you coming up to the Ops?"

"What?" Callen stares at her, still trying to, well, _process._

"Are you coming to the Ops? C'mon, we got no time to lose," Kensi urges him.

"You mean, you guys are working... on my... our case?" G frowns disbelievingly.

"Well, obviously, you genius," Kensi rolls her eyes. "You are family. The family is threatened. So we do anything to make sure the family stays safe. So now, let's not lose time but get working, alright?"

"... thanks," he stutters, honestly overwhelmed. G knows he can always count on the team, but that they immediately jump into action, neglecting all other plans and tasks, still amazes him.

It is seemingly that in the greatest crisis you learn who your true friends are, and just how far those true friends go for you. And his friends go beyond anything G Callen ever thought they would.

"You only thank us once Marty is safe with us," Kensi flashes a faint smirk. "Where is he, by the way?"

"At the boatshed with Nate. He fell asleep," G grimaces as he starts to follow Kensi to the stairs.

"Honestly, I would suggest we just keep him asleep until all this is over," she snorts. She doesn't know everything, but what Kensi knows from Hetty is enough to not only hate Brandel to his guts and beyond, but also to think that it would be better to keep her little friend out of this altogether. He doesn't deserve that. He really doesn't.

"I was thinking the same," Callen admits. Right, like hibernation. Just let Marty sleep until this is all clarified, and if not, use the time to get him out of the country.

"But for now... let's focus on what we can do – run a full-round investigation," Kensi encourages the Senior Agent, something G is honestly glad and thankful for. It makes this hell a little more bearable, and him a little less helpless while he wanders around the fires and abysses.

The two make their way into the Ops, where all eyes are instantly on them once they enter. Callen waves his hand slightly, offering a weary smile, "Hey guys."

He takes his stance next to Sam, who pats him on the shoulder wordlessly. G nods. It's a simple gesture, but it says everything that needs to be said:

_I'm your partner, I'm there for you. _

_We fight this fight together. _

_You are not alone. _

"Do we have anything useful yet?" Sam asks the analysts as they punch in numbers. Eric twists around in his chair to look at them, "We are still working through the files. Give us a few more minutes."

"Well, you might want to add a new parameter," Callen grimaces.

"Sure, anything is of help," Eric nods. Because any new parameter will help figure out this mess. A new perspective means new angles, new angles mean more possibilities – more chances.

More chances to keep Marty.

Because _no one_ wants Marty to leave.

"Uhm, according to Marty, the woman we met there today is not whom she claims to be," G explains.

Hetty cocks an eyebrow at him, "So you mean to say that she is..."

"Not his mother. Marty said that she died some two years ago after she was in a coma for some time. Well, if this turns out to be true, it means that someone else is enacting her," Callen explains. The rest of the team gapes at him.

Seriously?

Doppelgänger?

Copycats?

This sounds like it is out of one of Marty's and Kensi's beloved cheap movies.

"Just who the hell are those people?!" Nell shakes her head.

"That is what we have to find out, Ms. Jones," Hetty replies matter-of-factly.

"So add identity theft and possible murder to the list," Kensi makes a face. "Those people are giving me chills already – and I haven't been face to face with them yet."

"I was face to face with them – and I have chills," Callen snorts.

"I bet," Kensi grimaces sympathetically.

"But what would they have from... making her appear as Marty's mother? I mean, Marty should know the difference. That is a huge risk, especially since we can probably demand a DNA scan – and then they are screwed," Sam argues.

"Well, Mr. Hanna, even if I don't know too much about this yet, what I can say is that someone who goes as far as to enact someone else, to have her identity, doesn't do so without a reason. If you approach someone who knows the real person, then you do so because you have absolute confidence that you will succeed. And given that Mr. Deeks was gone for so long, which granted them enough time to prepare, they surely came up with a strategy," Hetty tells him.

"Guts they have," Sam shakes his head.

"And that will be their downfall," Hetty says gloomily.

As if on cue, her phone rings. Hetty glances at the screen briefly before she turns to the agents again, "You keep working on it while Mr. Callen and I will head downstairs."

"What am I doing downstairs?" Callen frowns.

"Meet your lawyer," Hetty shrugs, already walking off. Callen heads after her wordlessly. That sounds like a plan – and plans are good, they mean structure, and that is what he needs.

Funny how much Marty and he are alike in that regard.

Downstairs he meets Hetty's lawyer, or now his lawyer, a middle-aged African American man with dark hair, olive-green eyes and dimples. He wears an anthracite suit with a navy blue tie and black shoes.

"Ah, Mr. Connor, I'm glad you could make it that fast, thank you for coming by," Hetty greets him, taking his hand with a warm smile.

"For you always, Ms. Lange," he smirks at her, but then turns his attention to Callen. "And you must be Mr. Callen, right?"

"Yeah," G nods, extending his hand to the man to shake hands with him, too.

"I'm Gabriel Connor, pleasure," he smiles at him warmly.

"Pleasure," G replies.

"So, uhm, can we go somewhere to have conversation? I don't think this is something we should discuss in the hallway," Connor says.

"We can go over to the lounge," Hetty says, gesturing at him to follow, which he and Callen do. They settle down.

"Alright," Connor begins, clapping his hands together, "I have to say I didn't have much time to look into your case yet. I just have the information Ms. Lange could give me, but now I would like to get the story straight with you another time so that I don't miss anything and can start my work, because we shouldn't waste our time."

"Sure," G agrees. "Go ahead."

"So okay. You have the guardianship for your younger half-brother, Marty, correct?" he asks.

"Yes," Callen nods.

"You cooperated with CPS," the man goes on.

"As far as you can cooperate with them," G shrugs.

"Yeah, I know they have that kinda reputation... anyways, now his parents turned back up again and they want to have him back, by going to court," Connor goes on.

"Yes," Callen nods. "But there is something else that turned up only just now. Marty says that the woman we met today is not the woman she claims to be. He is convinced that she enacts his mother. To his knowledge his mother died a few years ago. I believe Marty, but we don't have valid proof for this yet, so I don't know what we can do with the information from the legal side."

"Wow, that's... okay, new, but, uhm... we can work with that, but... ugh... _really?_ I'm sorry," Sawyer grimaces, looking honestly surprised.

"Yeah, same thought I had," Callen snorts.

"So okay, from what I know so far... there is a certain procedure that I can already lay out to you, the general mainframe to stick to," Connor explains. "The first step is to make sure that Marty stays with you."

"That sounds good to me," Callen chuckles nervously. That is the one thing he hoped he'd say. G doesn't care about what it says on paper. He didn't when they approved him Marty's guardian, and he didn't care about it ever since. The only thing that mattered to him was that Marty stayed with him. And that the lawyer means to take this as a premise makes G more confident in trusting this man with his most important thing on earth.

"Your father will try to fight for custody for Marty, we will fight _that_ so that Marty stays in your custody and terminate his parental rights. If we are successful with that, we will apply for adoption. That way, your father can't get to him anymore," the lawyer explains.

"Alright," G nods. That sounds reasonable.

"That is our primary focus now. I would suggest to push your father's perhaps other crimes aside, and by that I mean possible murder of his... wife, as far as I could take, and helping with identity theft. The same is true for this woman. I guess it might sound a bit counter-intuitive at first, but I think it's the best strategy to delay that until later," the lawyer tells him, but Callen can't help but ask, "But wouldn't it be better to get him into prison first? I mean... then the rest would be superfluous, right?"

"Well, if you can bring me valid proof for the identity theft and the murder that will hold in a courtroom, then hooray, we go with that, but my intuition tells me that this will take some time to uncover. Time I fear we don't have. With securing Marty's custody first, however, we have way better chances because we have that one advantage," Connor explains, making G frown, "What advantage is that?"

"Well, from what I know, Marty will likely stay in your custody until the hearing – so that he is not put under more stress. We can also hand in a petition to further secure that. We have support on our side because you cooperated with CPS right from the start and met their standards as his legal guardian in the first place. The father, however, has at least the shoot-in issue on his side. So until this is clarified, I think we are safe to say that Marty will stay with you until the judge decides if your guardianship or theirs is terminated. That gives us the time to gather all the evidence, because that means your brother is with us – and he is all the evidence we need. It is his story we have to prove," Connor explains, to which Callen nods.

Right, it's what G promised him. To prove his story right, set the record straight.

Connor goes on, "For as long as your brother is with you, we can gather all the evidence it takes, because, sadly, those things still show on him. X-rays and an extensive physical and psychological evaluation will reinforce our perspective. That will be cataloged – and I warn you now, that will be a... consuming thing to do. It's always hard because we have to go into detail. Marty will have to tell... _everything_ he is ready to talk about. It serves the higher purpose, however. We have to make sure the parental rights are terminated and that happens if the parents are proven unfit of taking care of him. Child abuse is one of the best indicators," Connor explains, his features grim.

"Yeah," the agent nods.

"We have your agents who can tell the judge how much of a good parent you are for him on the other hand, to strengthen your position as being the fitter parent. That is what we can build on without weird theories about identity theft. Because I can tell you, if we drop this bomb too early, possibly without enough proper evidence, we run severe trouble that this will actually backfire on us so that you seem unfit as a parent and not them. If we bring this, we have to have a good timing, so that it is our trump. And we will have it once we have absolute proof for this. Otherwise it will only make the judge believe that we are making up crazy theories," the lawyer warns him.

"I don't like that, but I get it," Callen agrees with a grimace.

"Well, so what I need from you is all the evidence that you can find to prove Marty's story. By that I mean any clues of ongoing abuse during his childhood. As already said, that includes x-rays, old files, times he missed out on school, but also a new physical report. I hope you have a physician he is okay with, because he will have to do a thorough check. I know that this can be extremely difficult with children who suffered from what Marty underwent," Connor grimaces sympathetically.

"Yeah, we have someone," Callen nods. Well, at least he hopes that Marty took a liking to one of the doctors he was around with.

"Good, well, other than that we need the exact circumstances of the shooting that Ms. Lange already mentioned to me, and a psychological profile from his psychologist that makes clear that he suffered trauma because of this man and that you, on the other hand, are helping him in coping a great deal offering him support and stability," Connor explains. "I will set everything up with the court in the meantime. Once we have everything together, we will hand that information to the court. They will sight the material. And then there will be a long round of interviews and visits on both sides. I will do anything I can, but it may also come to it that they will seek to see Marty interacting with his parents."

"That's not happening," Callen grumbles.

"It is very important that you do what the court requires you to. Again, I will try to bypass that, but we have to give them good reason to neglect this. However, that is something that will come about only later on, so we shouldn't fuss about this for now," the lawyer reminds him.

"Okay, " the agent grimaces.

"I will see if your psychologist can speak in Marty's name or if he can only report to another psychologist assigned by the court. Either way, his evaluation will be essential to prove our point," Connor goes on.

"That shouldn't be a problem," G smirks, now more certainly – because Nate can surely provide such a report.

"What we also want to look for is other people who can speak in Marty's favor, so neighbors, witnesses who saw him getting hurt and so on," the lawyer explains.

"Right," G nods.

"Well, that's the standard. However, I expect your father to play dirty. And that means we have to think about all the things he will poke his finger in – or will twist around to make it fitting into his own story," Connor goes on.

"And by that you mean what exactly?" G grimaces.

"Well, he seemingly has a different 'perception' of the shooting that sounds, and I stress the _sounds,_ coherent enough that it held in a courtroom before. It is also what went into protocol, and I tell you, that will be very difficult because it was actually brought to court like that. It was decided that it was merely an accident. So that's going to be a tough bone anyways. However, that will most likely be the pattern. Whatever we take, he will twist around, if he has a halfway good lawyer to do that. And he will go looking for all failures in you especially to make you seem unfit of parenting," the lawyer warns him.

"Well, nobody's perfect, but I thought we had a pretty good handle on it," G makes a face.

"That is not the matter, Mr. Callen. That is something you have to really understand. Even if I agree with you, after what I heard from Ms. Lange, it's absolutely _not_ about the _reality_ that you're the better parent for Marty in all possible ways. It's about what people _see,_ what that judge will have to see," Connor explains. "To give you an example, that Marty stays here at the NCIS will surely cause a lot of trouble because it is against convention. People won't understand that because they do not understand the specific circumstances, at least that it what your father will build on."

"Darn," Callen licks his lips nervously.

"However, we can bypass that if we make those circumstances clear before. The judge has to understand Marty's story and that this made even such unconventional actions needed for his healing process. That this offers him greater stability than conventional treatment would. We have to shed the right light on it," the lawyer tells him.

"Okay, I get that," Callen nods.

"And I will give you this fair warning – they will not only go digging in your personal background the way we will in theirs. They will also go through your friends' closets, too, and mess around in them as much as they can," Connor tells him, making Callen blink at him incredulously, "What now? What do they have to do with it?"

"Well, we will want to bring them in to speak in your favor, but that also means that the other side will get a chance to question them. And they won't just ask about Marty. They will make them appear as questionable or even bad company, too," the lawyer explains.

"They are federal agents working to protect the country," Callen argues.

"And that is what we will build on, but they will make it look like they are people hiding things, people who get into danger, mean a dangerous life, a possible threat to Marty, and even more. You will have to be aware of the fact that this will happen if you want to win, Mr. Callen," he tells him.

"And I think I can speak in everyone's name that we will have no trouble with that for as long as it ensures that Mr. Deeks stays with us," Hetty says, clapping Callen on the back of the hand affectionately.

"It will be a tough struggle, I can tell you that much," Connor warns him.

"I'm ready for it," Callen says with as much determination as he can muster.

"Well, as for the rest... I will go through everything I can find from the legal side. I would recommend you to dig for any information that might help prove our point," the lawyer tells him.

"We are already working on that," Hetty smirks.

"Alright, then that is what we do. I will work through the material to work on a fitting strategy, and you please start with the doctor's and the psychologist's reports. Those are our best way to prove our point," the lawyer goes on, to which Callen nods, "Sure."

"Okay, then I don't want to waste more time, but work on this. We have literally no time to lose," Connor says, getting up.

"Thanks a lot," Callen smirks wearily.

"You should only thank me once we win this case," the lawyer smirks warmly before he tells his goodbyes and takes the folders and files Hetty already put together for him with him to work them through.

"To me it's the weirdest thing that I now have to let a lawyer handle it for me. I would just love to arrest this guy for what he did and that'd be it," Callen grunts, covering his eyes with his palm for a moment. That would be so much easier. Why is that guy not a Marine after all? Then he could roast his ass in all the hurtful ways he deserves.

"Mr. Connor is a very able man, I assure you, Mr. Callen," Hetty tells him.

"I have no doubt he is, it's just...," Callen shrugs, but Hetty understands, "It's just that you would rather not give it into someone else's hands. However, that is the only way I see this happening. We have to go to court – and that means we have to play according to their rules."

"I hate convention," he snorts.

"Me, too, Mr. Callen, me, too," Hetty sighs. Callen suddenly turns his head. Hetty smiles warmly once she sees what he turns to. Nate stands with his hand on Marty's shoulder in the gateway.

Callen knows Marty by the sound of his sneakers.

"Hey," Marty speaks up, managing a feeble smile, but much more honest than Callen had ever dared to hope for.

"Hey," he replies, stepping closer.

"I thought I'd better stay here," the younger brother admits after a short pause.

"Yeah? Why?" Callen questions in a soft voice, full of concern. "I mean... maybe you'd better be off at home, just saying."

He doesn't want to strain the kid anymore than he did anyways.

"_This_ is home," Marty replies simply, which makes Callen smile through all the sadness.

The way Marty figures, he could of course go back to the apartment now, lock himself up in the bedroom and cry into the pillow, being sorry for himself, but... that doesn't get him anywhere. His family, yes, _family,_ is here. And they made him happy before, why shouldn't they now? If he wants to gain strength again, then it is here.

Maybe he is not that unlike G – his older brother always jumps into action, works a case, and solves it. And Marty wants the same. He doesn't want to run anymore, even if a part of him will always want to. Marty wants to stay here, stand his ground, fight for what is precious to him.

"He insisted," Nate winks at him.

"Well, then I'm glad that you came by," Callen winks at him, pulling him close once. Marty smiles into the embrace.

This is real.

"So? Anything interesting yet?" Nate asks rather casually.

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you just now," Callen replies.

"And I wanted to ask Mr. Deeks to have a cup of tea with me," Hetty offers. Callen winks at her and Marty gets the hint. He walks up to her, "But not that herbal tea from China you gave me last time. That didn't calm my nerves at all. Last time I drank it, I was bouncing up and down the walls for the rest of the night."

"We can go with a standard Earl Grey, if you preferred?" she offers, patting him on the lower arm as she leads him back to the lounge.

"Fine, but I still don't buy it," Marty says rather playfully.

"Why?" she frowns at him.

"Because I still don't believe that it is named after that British Prime Minister people keep talking about," Marty snorts, joining in the old game. "That guy never was to China by that time!"

"I don't believe it either, but the tea is good," Hetty shrugs.

"True again," Marty agrees. Both disappear in the lounge.

"Is he really okay?" G asks tentatively.

"Once he woke up, we talked a bit. He was at a steady five. I think that he came clean about this really relieved him in some way," Nate shrugs. "And your brother is, much like you, a fighter."

Right, a fighter.

"Good," Callen lets a silent sigh of relief.

"So? What can I do for you?" Nate asks directly.

"Hetty already had me meet my new lawyer," Callen starts to explain, but Nate can't help the comment, "Of course she did."

"Right?" Callen chuckles. "So anyways, he told me what I have to get for court. I would ask you for a psychological evaluation, to present to the judge and all."

"Of course," Nate nods. "That's no problem."

"Good, well, and the other thing is that we also need a doctor's report, about Marty's... injuries," G explains. Nate nods knowingly, "That might be hairy with Marty in that state, I see."

"Well, I hope you help us with that somehow," Callen shrugs.

"Again, of course," Nate tells him. "Maybe the doctor who's treated you after the stabbing might be a good idea, thinking about it. Marty got to know him without actually being the patient, as far as I know. That may be of great help."

"I thought the same thing, but he also had someone who treated him after we found him. I thought that maybe that guy was also an option," Callen explains.

"Well, but there he clearly was in that relationship of doctor and patient. And as far as I know, Marty didn't just try to escape, but also managed so that you had him stay with you," Nate smirks. "So I suppose he didn't really build up a close connection to him. With the other we have better chances. And he helped save your life, that is surely a plus."

Callen hides a small smirk to himself.

The day he met Marty, even if he can still remember it in all detail, seems so far away now. The boy whose sneakers he can tell by the sound, the teen who manages to joke about tea to bring himself to a lighter mood, is someone almost entirely different from the scared boy with blue eyes who cried out his name as a plea to somehow be remembered by the world.

However, that memory only makes the taste on G's tongue ever so bitter. What if their father wins the case and makes Marty that again? This almost forgotten child who hid in a dumpster and was not only weary of the world, but partly learned to hate it?

What if that small smile, those bright eyes are lost to the world?

Callen doesn't even want to think about it. He just knows that his personal world will collapse without him, without those things.

"I just hope that this doesn't backfire on him. I mean, he hardly talked about what his father did until recently. And you know how he is about all that stuff," Callen licks his lips. Marty got over many things, but undressing in front of someone else still proves to be difficult. Even if he is comfortable around G for the most part, Marty actually changed with the bed sheet over his body for quite some time, as though he was a little ghost. But now to strip in front of a doctor, no matter that he may know him already, and not just show an injured body part, but point at each of them and tell the story... this will get tough.

As if everything wasn't already.

"I know that we have to get this as soon as possible, but we should leave it at least for today," Nate tells him, and Callen is glad that he says so, because he didn't want to crush Marty yet another time. It's a miracle that the boy is already standing and smiling. How he does it, Callen will probably never know.

For now, he just wants to have Marty sip his tea and discuss with Hetty as though everything is normal.

Even if nothing is normal now.

A little while later, Sam and Kensi come downstairs, too. They exchange greetings with Nate and a few more hushed reassurances for G.

"So? Did you find anything yet?" Callen asks.

"Well, we're still looking through everything we can find. We though it might be a good starting point to see if we get some witnesses to speak in Marty's name. Maybe some neighbors or so," Kensi shrugs.

"Right, and we might wanna go for the schools another time, see if the teachers are willing to make a statement now. And we might want to turn to the people who were in court when the shooting was discussed. Maybe his former lawyer or so. Perhaps even police officers. I guess we just need backup for us, right?" Sam goes on.

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking, too," Callen nods his head.

"Eric and Nell now try to find a link between the stolen files from Marty's school to Brandel. If he was the one who removed them, then this will surely give us some leverage," Kensi goes on. Callen offers an appreciative smile.

Right, there was that, too.

"Well, it would be helpful if Marty could give us some names," she goes on.

"What names?" the teenager's voice, as if on cue, rings out behind them.

"Oh, hey there," Kensi offers a warm smile, and is positively surprised that the boy smiles back, if a little crooked, but still. She looks over at Callen, non-verbally asking for permission, to which he nods. So Kensi goes on to explain, "Well, we are now looking for people who can speak in your name, witnesses. We asked ourselves if you could help us find them, you know? Some names of neighbors who have seen... what your father did, or who talked to you."

Marty chews on his lower lip pensively, but once he notes the growing nervousness with the adults surrounding him, he quickly speaks up, "Sure, no problem, I just... well, I have to think. It's been such a long time since I last thought about them."

Everyone lets a silent sigh of relief. They already feared that Marty would relapse or so, or just end up a crying mess. After all, those are surely some old wounds that will reopen with getting into contact with those people again who were, if only loosely, part of his past, where there was nothing but dread and fear in it.

"Well, uhm... there's... wait, what was her last name...? Nancy something... she was the woman I babysitted for, or well, I played with her kids while she did some chores at the house," Marty shrugs. "Nancy Trager! Right, that was it. She lived a little down the road. Well, of course she might have moved away by now. I wouldn't ever know, but..."

"We will see if we can find her," Kensi offers with a gentle smile tugging at her lips.

"Do you think she knew?" Callen asks quietly.

"She's asked about it, as far as I know. And a part of me is convinced that she invited me over to babysit to help me in a way," Marty shrugs. "I liked her a lot. Her kids were great, and she was great with them. For a single mom, she really knew how to rock it."

"Is there anyone else we might turn to?" Sam asks. Marty makes a face, "I don't know if people in school knew. My P.E. teacher once called me upon it, but I brushed it off. And we never had someone come over to check. I was never ordered to the principal either. I guess some neighbors may have known that something was off about us. I mean, the hell, we were the one family where there were flying plates even at midnight."

"Well, then we will go ask around your old neighborhood," Sam offers.

"I wonder if anyone still remembers," Marty whispers, more to himself. He really wonders if people still remember his mother, or him. Nancy might remember him, because she cared, but the other people?

Marty always felt like he was a walking shadow among them. When he walked home from school or got the groceries for his mom, he always had the feeling that he was invisible, like a little ghost creeping along the fences. In the beginning, or at least the beginning he remembers, there was some murmuring about them, this new family no one knew. And since his mother was not allowed to spend time with the other women, that only intensified. However, curiously enough, over a few years of time, the murmurs disappeared and silence remained, and so did the blurred vision, seemingly. People would, if at all, frown sometimes, in the sense of:

_Isn't that the boy from down the road? It's always so loud around night! My children hardly got any sleep! _

_Isn't that one of the Brandels? You never see anything of them. I wonder why that is. _

_Isn't that... what was his name? No, wait, that was the other boy from further down the road. I mixed them up. _

_Who is that? _

_Is he even from here? _

_What does he want here? _

Of course Marty will never know, because he never asked anyone what they were really thinking, or if they were thinking anything of him to begin with. Perhaps it was just his imagination after all, because, so Marty learned especially once in the streets, people are more ignorant than they are attentive. So he might just as well have passed all this time as a little ghost, and wouldn't have known that this was what he was to them, and would always be to them.

But really... maybe Nancy and her kids still remember him, remember him for, well, _him._ Like he still wants to remember his mom for herself, the person she was and not for the make-up she wore. Marty would like to believe that he somehow left an imprint in at least one house other than his own in that street. That he was visible enough to someone to be remembered.

When in the streets, he never gave it much of a thought, and even if he did, it was quite the contrary. He wanted to be forgotten, by his family, by his father, by the world. Marty wanted to become a new him. That is also why he insisted on not referring to himself or being referred to by others as Marty _Deeks._ Even if it was just the act of taking on his mother's name, all in secret, it felt like a kind of liberation to him – to redefine himself. Marty was no longer the invisible ghost passing the fences as people looked on or looked down. He was Marty Deeks, maybe a ghost, still, but deliberately so, and not because someone else made him. Even if, of course, someone, namely his father, made him. Because Marty, expect for that feeling of liberty he only felt when sleeping under a clear nightsky or walking along the coastline, didn't like his stay in the streets, even if one takes aside the time in the ring for a moment. Even if he made the decision to run away, it soon dawned on him that his hands and feet were still forced by his father.

And now they might be forced once again.

Marty just hopes that history won't repeat itself in that way. Because he is obviously visible to his new family, and the teenager wants it to stay that way.

He doesn't want to disappear again.

However, as he hears the others going on to discuss the next steps, he feels a strange kind of confidence rising within him.

Because, in contrast to before, he now has people who see him and who want to continue to see him.

Maybe they can make him visible.

Maybe they can make sure he doesn't disappear.


	39. Flashforward

Author's Note: First things first – I am sooooooooooo incredibly sorry for the long update time, but university and the so-called real life (plus a fit of severe writer's block, like really, severe writer's block, I'm not even kidding) have kept me from this story… and all my other stories, pretty much. I want to finish this, I do, I have any intention to, but… my mind won't set on it. And I just keep thinking too much, I guess. I hope you forgive me and still stick around. Thanks a lot for the encouraging and interesting reviews, you guys make me smile each time ^^

In response to my wonderful French reader – I will go with English because my French is really too bad to say that: Thank you so incredibly much for the input. I will try to incorporate the information as far as that is possible, but for the sake of fiction I guess I will make it appear faster than it would actually take for such a hearing etc. to get through. If nothing works, I take the liberty to rely on Hetty-magic to make everything go a bit faster. Because I actually don't want to stop with just having a court hearing to declare who gets to have Marty (I guess the mom-issue is a broad hint already). However, I'm really thankful for pointing this out to me. I hope I can incorporate it insofar to make it at least halfway-authentic ^^

Merci beaucoup ;)

As always, reviews are welcome and ever so much appreciated, especially after I kept you waiting for soooo long. *melts*

Read, review, and hopefully enjoy ;)

* * *

The next day, curiously enough, routine has the two brothers back as fast as it was ripped away beneath their feet. They greet the others almost cheerily in the morning, have takeaway coffee, Marty with cinnamon flavor this time. Perhaps it is to get back on the horse, find back into the routine, or just because they want to hold this routine precious for as long as it lasts. Neither one says it out loud, but that's okay. Either way, it's alright. They have their routine for now. They have coffee, with and without cinnamon. They have each other.

For now.

And hopefully for much longer.

Callen finds himself making phone calls to teachers and parents, even some students, CPS, and the like to gather tatters and bits of information to somehow complete the picture. However, this proves to be much more difficult than it could be expected. After all, if one looks at it from a distance, this should simply be an argument about custody. However, the mystery Callen almost forgot about that wafted around Marty when he first got to know him is slowly but surely starting anew and obscures all those tatters and bits that he needs so desperately, for Marty's sake already.

And another setback is that sometimes it is not at all mysterious, it's so crystal clear that it hurts G behind the eyeballs – whenever the conversations come to an abrupt end before they ever started.

_Marty __who__?_

_No, I know no one of that name._

_Brandel,__no. Doesn't ring a bell with me._

_You say we were neighbors? I can't recall, really, maybe you ended up with the wrong address, Sir._

_Brandel, yeah, that sounds familiar in some way. Didn't they have two daughters? No, well, then maybe not._

_I know they had a kid, but I never talked to them.  
I only saw them walking down the streets from time to time._

_I thought they had moved away shortly after. What? They didn't? Oh, that's a surprise, but well. It's not like I checked or so._

_Sorry, but I have to ask again, what was the boy's name?_

_I forgot._

It is not just frustrating to have wasted yet another five minutes without getting any information, but it makes Callen sick to the stomach that seemingly no one bothered about his little brother when he was in dire need. And that already when he wasn't in the streets, where, so G had to understand, it's much more common and even accepted by the street kids themselves, that people don't care and turn away. However, even when Marty was a school child like any other, may have rode the same bus home with their kids, may have had the same classes with them, may have passed their door, their house, their fence... they didn't care. They just didn't care, at all.

And even if it may be perfectly irrational, no, he _knows_ it's irrational, Callen fails to understand how someone can look past such a child, a child that grew to be his life, his little everything.

Nevertheless, he keeps going. Because some do indeed remember Marty, if only vaguely, and even if they didn't ever talk to the kid or his family, they might still remember someone else who talked to them, maybe. However, very often G stumbles over the name of Nancy Trager again. They plan to go to Marty's neighborhood tomorrow. She still lives in the same house, so Eric and Nell confirmed, still working the same job, and still a single mother. Callen phoned her already, a very nice woman from the sound of her voice. Even if he didn't give away everything yet, she agreed to have him over to answer some questions. He mentioned that it is about Marty, but didn't give away any more than that it is about him. He hopes that Marty will stir some reaction so that she doesn't do what he saw most of the people do who should remember Marty, namely to not get involved, which is why the kid is supposed to come along tomorrow.

And Callen couldn't help but frown at how Marty's eyes twinkled with happiness for a moment once he told him about the plan – because there is seemingly someone who remembers him.

G is pulled out of his musing as Kensi asks him something, "So okay, we still need to do some figuring out when it comes to the domestic shooting. Do you think it's helpful to ask Marty's former lawyer?"

He and the rest are all in the bullpen, also the two analysts, to discuss the next steps, and for another round of coffee, after neither one of them got a good night's sleep ever since the encounter with Brandel and the mysterious woman.

"It might be," Callen shrugs.

"What about Brandel's lawyer, too?" Sam suggests.

"Well, then you two should see if you can dig up those two, maybe even the judge," Kensi says, referring to the analysts, who give a nod.

"Mark it off as done," Eric winks at her.

"But I really hope that Marty's lawyer can give us some information," Kensi makes a face.

Once again, as if on cue, Marty walks in, sipping a cup of coffee. He stops, but still has the mug lifted to his lips as he speaks nonchalantly, "That'll be difficult."

"I thought I told you to do your homework," Callen scolds. He actually wants to keep most of the "investigation" away from Marty. The kid has enough to figure out, and it surely shouldn't be about finding evidence. That's _his_ job.

"All done. I went to have a coffee," Marty shrugs his shoulders.

"So okay... why do you think we can't get our hands on the lawyers? We can use Kaleidoscope to find them in no time," Eric argues.

"Don't bother about my lawyer. I know where he is," Marty tells him, which only makes the agents frown at him. How would he know?

"And?" the team leader asks eventually, to which Marty replies, "You can dig him up in Stark Cemetery, but I don't think that he'll be very _talkative_."

"He's dead," Callen makes a face.

"Yup. Bad cholesterol, I guess. Died from heart attack two years ago," Marty explains. Well, he doesn't know if it was really the bad cholesterol in the end, but that guy was fat and sweated a lot, that Marty can remember. That he always munched chocolates and energy bars during the breaks like a hamster. And that Marty didn't like him. At some point the teenager honestly hopes that it was his secret pleasure that killed him.

"How do you know that?" Sam questions. After all, Marty hardly attended the funeral or held up contact with this man.

"I know it only by chance – I read his obituary in the newspaper," Marty shrugs. "Well, it actually was only three weeks later. I found it in the trash near one place I stayed at when in the streets. I always liked to do the riddles, but then I stumbled over his name on the page with the obituaries, so... yeah, he's pushing the daisies in a while."

It was really curious how this slightly wet and blurred paper ended up in Marty's dirty-smudged hands while he dug through yet another trash can for a bit of leisure time, a bit of mental escape within the world of riddles and words. Marty spent at least ten minutes laughing whole-heartedly once his eyes traced the letters marking that person's death – because no matter how you look at it, it is probably a chance one out of ten million (or more, he never read such statistics) that he happens to stumble over this one newspaper containing this particular obituary. However, Marty took it as a wink of fate that maybe justice can win by the end of the day after all, perhaps just not the way he expected it to. And that gave him not only a good laugh, but also a strange feeling of… hope.

"Well, then your father's lawyer might still be a shot," Kensi shrugs.

"My father's lawyer's also a friend of his. We even had him over for dinner a few times as far as I can remember. So… no way he'd say something against him. So... the lawyers are either dead or my father's friends. In other terms: We are screwed," Marty retorts, now with a sudden grim expression on his face. Callen walks over to him and takes him by the shoulders, "We will find something, don't you worry."

"Yeah, yeah. I know," Marty sighs. He knows that moping doesn't get them anywhere, and he swore not to do it, but it honestly pulls the teenager down that not only people don't remember him, but that, once again, death and secrets get in the way of his happiness. How is he supposed to believe in justice and fortune when those two villainous powers always get in the way?

"And we still have Nancy to talk to tomorrow, right?" Callen goes on, hoping to bring his spirits back up, but gladly, Nell comes to his aid, "Hey, Marty! How about we play some video games? I bought a new one that you'll love for sure."

"You're at work," Marty frowns as the redhead comes closer to him.

"Those guys are giving me headsores, so this will help me focus again. And you still owe me a rematch after you got me by surprise last week," she winks at him. Marty shrugs as she puts a hand on his shoulder and starts to push him away and to the lounge. Callen mouths a silent thank-you as the two walk off.

"So I got you by surprise ten times in a row?" Marty snickers, joining the light mood once again. Nell nudges him in the shoulder as they disappear. Callen lets out a deep sigh, running his thumb and index finger over the corners of his mouth.

"Great," he mutters. Kensi, Eric, and Sam look at him sympathetically. That is the moment Hetty makes her appearance.

"Hetty? Please tell me that you got some good news," Callen cries out more desperately than he would like to, however, his cool is long since gone – ever since Brandel resurfaced, to be honest.

"Where does that desperation come from, Mr. Callen?" she frowns at him, to which he replies with a shrug, "It turns out that Marty's former lawyer for the domestic shooting had a fable for fat and sugar."

"And kicked the bucket," Sam adds. "And the kid says his father's lawyer is a friend of his, so chances are low that he will speak in our favor in any way. We'll look at everything another time anyway, but let's just say this angle doesn't look very fruitful."

"That is of course a problem...," Hetty grimaces.

"So now, tell me something good, please," Callen sighs.

"Well, Mr. Callen... I don't think it's _good_ news, but it's at least no such bad information which comes as a surprise," Hetty tells him.

"Hetty, just talk to me," Callen grunts. If there is yet another abyss before him, they should just get over with it, right?

"Mr. Connor informed me that an inspector was assigned to Mr. Deeks. Miss Lucile Hart. She will come to you and Mr. Deeks to have a look at the living conditions," the petite woman explains.

"I thought they'd go looking over at Brandel's," G grunts.

"No, the inspector is neutral and that means she will make her own impression of either living conditions to decide which one is best in Mr. Deeks' interest," Hetty explains.

"Okay, then she shall come. She'll see that I'm a way better parent than that bastard will ever be," Callen snorts. He can't picture that this will be a hard challenge. He never did to Marty what that bastard did, and won't ever. Point proven. Next question.

"Are you aware of the standards, Mr. Callen?" Hetty grimaces at him.

"Huh? Come again?" the agent frowns at her incredulously.

"The standards?" she asks again.

"For what?" G makes a face.

"Where do you live, Mr. Callen?" Hetty says, now in a scolding tone.

"In... a flat," Callen shrugs.

"Bunker is what you call it," Sam snorts, and Hetty only agrees, "Precisely. And where does Mr. Deeks stay?"

"He sleeps in my bed. I crash on the couch," Callen frowns. She knows that, so what's the point?

"Now, what do you expect will you find in Mr. Brandel's house when Ms. Hastings comes for visit?" Hetty goes on, but Sam answers for him, "A white-picked fence, a gorgeous house with a room with 'Marty' in sparkly letters on the door, flower curtains, cookies on the nightstand, a ton of toys and video games, a schedule for activities, tickets for the zoo, ready-made bed, and rose fragrance."

"You are weird," Callen makes a face.

"No, Mr. Hanna is absolutely right," Hetty argues. "It's about the impression. And when Ms. Hart shows up on your doorsteps, she'll see every particle of dust... and in your flat she will find a lot of it, literally as well as figuratively. She will see that Mr. Deeks is not having a real room of his own, which means that he has no proper place to withdraw to. You sleep on the couch, that doesn't speak for the stability Mr. Deeks needs. You are barely at home due to your job, you have no partner or nanny."

"Marty would kill me before I hired a nanny," Callen snorts. He never brought it up – for good measure. Marty would have the laugh of his life.

"That's not the point, Mr. Callen. It's about the _appearance_," Hetty reminds him.

"And Brandel and the chick will have all that to show," Sam adds. "Because they probably spent a lot of time framing that."

"So what am I supposed to do to change that? Move into a fancy house now, too?" Callen snorts.

Of course he would do that in an instant if that increased his chances, but G doesn't see that this is bringing them anywhere.

"I talked to Mr. Connor about that option, but moving into another house might actually not be in our favor. Relocation in times such as these might prove to be more of a problem than it would help," Hetty shrugs.

"So what do I do now?" Callen snorts.

"Well, the court will be interested in stable living conditions. That means that it is clean, clearly structured, and that there is a proper space for both you and Mr. Deeks," Hetty explains.

"… Again, what am I supposed to do?" G frowns incredulously.

"You don't have to do anything much, you may consider it being taken care of," Hetty tells him with a smirk tugging at her thin lips.

"What does that mean?" G puckers his lips suspiciously.

"I took the liberty to have your home… _upgraded_ a bit, for the present purpose," Hetty replies.

"You seriously have the craftsmen in my home as we speak?" Callen looks at her with a grimace, to which Hetty only gives a shrug.

"… Under different circumstances, I would feel offended for invading my privacy like that, but right now I can just say… thanks. I appreciate it," Callen sighs. Because, to be honest, he didn't even think about it in his wildest dreams that this might be an issue.

Just that everything is an issue recently.

"The work will be done quickly, so that it looks polished before Ms. Hastings even places her foot upon your threshold," Hetty smiles at him.

"That is actually an upside for once," Callen shakes his head. "Really, thanks."

"We all want Mr. Deeks to stay, so this is the least we can do," Hetty replies. Callen smiles at her. If he didn't know before, he surely knows now that this is his family right there, doing anything for him… and more.

Callen is pulled out of his musing by the vibration of his cellphone. He takes it out of his pocket to frown at the number, "That's the doc."

He turns around and walks a little away to have some privacy.

"I honestly wonder where you store those millions of minions who build new kitchens and polish up entire apartments in a day, Hetty," Sam snorts, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I don't have minions, Mr. Hanna. I have a widely spread network of friends," she replies with a wink.

"Right," Sam chuckles softly. Callen soon returns to them.

"What did the doctor want?" Sam questions.

"Well, you know that we need the tests and x-rays to prove the injuries Marty received at Brandel's hand. The doctor informed me that he has an earlier slot for our appointment free after another patient cancelled. I wanna see if Marty's okay with it to go right now, if that's alright, Hetty?" Callen replies. The petite woman nods at him, "Of course. We will keep working on the leads during your absence."

"Thank you," the agent nods. He walks over to Nell and Marty, who are accompanied by Kensi now. G didn't even realize that the female agent took off as well, but she is almost as good as sneaking up and away as Hetty, though no one will ever beat this woman in that game. It's _her_ game after all.

Kensi frowns at the screen, waving around with the controller still in hand, "Wait... so the goal of that game is to kill all those zombies... and that's just it? Like, no greater goal, just kill?"

"Of course. What else would you do with them?" Nell shrugs, furrowing her eyebrows.

"And you seem so nice and cute with your pixie-haircut," Kensi shakes her head.

"And you just lost," Nell shrugs, nodding at the screen where Kensi's avatar just gets eaten by the green zombies.

"Argh!" she grumbles, pushing some buttons in anger.

"You gotta go for the heads, that brings extra points," Marty tells her.

"And they say I got anger issues. This is a whole new level of weird anger management," Kensi shakes her head.

"And if it's cute little brown chickens you shoot at, then it's not? I mean, all played that game when it came out, as far as I know?" Marty argues.

"Still, and then they wonder that their boys want to have a sword for Christmas!" Kensi argues.

"And girls. I wanted one when I was eleven," Nell argues.

"What? Did you get one?" Kensi frowns curiously.

"Yeah," she smiles wickedly.

"Isn't that kinda irresponsible?" Kensi makes a face. Of course she got knives for Christmas all the while, but she knows how to use them.

"What about it? It was a perfect replica of Link's sword from _Legend of Zelda_. I still have it in my collection," Nell explains.

"... _collection_," Kensi repeats. Sword collection. She never took Nell for the type, to be honest.

And Kensi didn't see it, even though she slept over at her place by now.

"Hetty's not the only one who has such things, just that mine, well, are mostly coz they are badass cool or coz they are from a movie or video game," she shrugs.

"... you surprise me," Kensi shakes her head, but then turns to the teenager. "Marty, promise me that you won't start that, yes?"

"Why? You like weapons, too. Hetty's thing is amazing… and I bet G wouldn't mind," Marty puckers his lips.

"I can't lose a comic buddy to the gamers!" Kensi argues vehemently.

"Hey! You want to pick a fight!?" Nell makes a serious face.

"I like comic books better, for collection reasons," Marty shrugs eventually. "But if you wanna play with something, video games are still best.

"That's my boy," Kensi smiles happily, clapping him on the back.

"And my boy, too," Nell grins, copying Kensi's movement.

"Having fun?" Callen says casually as he comes up to them.

"Splendid. I feel so old when I play these," Kensi snorts.

"Yeah, I know what you mean...," Callen agrees, but then tilts his head at the screen. "Even if _Zombie Apocalypse Los Angeles 3_ is kinda cool, once you know that you have to aim at the heads."

Kensi shakes her head with a smirk, "Marty, you spoiled him."

"... Nate told us to do something together. He's good at shooting, so why not shooting monsters?" Marty shrugs.

"That is... a case in point," Kensi nods. Inside her head she now pictures Callen freaking out over the video game as much as she does, though, which makes her chuckle softly. All those new images of G Callen – it never ceases to amaze her that there are those varieties now, where they didn't use to be.

"Marty?" Callen turns to the teenager, who blinks at him curiously, "What is it?"

"I just talked to Dr. Cramer. He said that we could get an earlier appointment for the… _check-up_… if you are up to it," Callen explains.

"You are killing me with this," Marty pouts, leaning his head on the controller.

"You don't have to, if you don't want to," the older brother assures him quickly.

"I kinda do," Marty snorts. "But I guess that the sooner we get over with this, the better, right?"

"Right," Callen agrees.

"But I don't get yet another of those funny surprise shots, like last time? I wanted to hit that guy in the arm real hard when it was suddenly about a vaccination I didn't even know I had to get," Marty narrows his eyes at him.

"No vaccinations, I promise," Callen holds up his hands in surrender.

"Good, I hate needles," Marty shudders.

"I don't like them either," Kensi whispers to him.

"So this is seriously happening… right now… or did the doctor just mean to say the earlier appointment is like… one hour before the time we had before?" Marty huffs playfully.

"No, it'd be now," Callen replies.

"Okay, fine, then let's… get that over with," Marty makes a face, getting up. He hands the controller over to Kensi.

"If the doc's mean to you, you tell me, I'll beat him up for you," Kensi offers with a wink.

"Thank you," Marty grins. "I might take you up on that."

"C'mon," Callen ushers the younger brother, leading him away by the shoulder.

"So… we should get back to work…," Nell puckers her lips.

"One last round?" Kensi grins.

"Yep," Nell chuckles and starts the game.

* * *

So the two brothers soon find themselves in a private treatment room, waiting for the doctor.

"I really hate hospitals," Marty murmurs, looking around.

"They are just doing their job here, too," Callen shrugs, though he absolutely shares the young brother's sentiment.

"And that is why I never want to become a doctor later on in life. Just imagine you have to work here… and treat lousy patients such as us," Marty goes on.

"They get good money for it, and I think they have nice patients around on occasion," Callen chuckles. "And anyways, even if you are a lousy patient, you know that Dr. Cramer likes you."

"That might be, but… I'm still a lousy patient, from the bottom of my heart," Marty shrugs. He likes Dr. Cramer, too, actually. He helped save G's life, so that man has many plus-points on his list even though Marty didn't know him really well until recently.

"I really hope I didn't rush you with this," Callen grimaces.

"G, it's okay. I'm… alright… so far, and I really just wanna get over with it," Marty assures him. He knows his brother is just trying to be nice and put as little strain on him as is possible, but Marty sees the necessity, the _absolute_ necessity. The way he figures, Marty wants to treat this like his brother does it with the bad guys, like a case. A case to solve. And what do you do to solve a case?

You gather evidence.

Everywhere.

Even on your own body if it has to be.

For as long as it gets the bad guy into prison, what does it matter, right?

"Sorry that I kept you waiting, but another patient of mine kept me longer than I thought. I'm glad you could make it that fast. I know it was a little rushed, but…," Dr. Cramer says as he enters, Callen holds up his hands, "We are glad for the earlier appointment."

The doctor takes his seat in front of the two.

"Good," Dr. Cramer smiles, before turning his attention to Marty. "Alright, Marty. I think you know what we are going to do today, right?"

"Yes," the teenager replies.

"Do you want your brother to go outside for the matter?" the doctor questions. Marty looks at G for a moment, but then shakes his head, "I want him to stay."

"And you're sure?" G grimaces.

"Yes," Marty nods. If he shares this with someone, it is with G.

"What number are we at?" the older brother asks.

"… six," Marty replies.

"So? Are we good to go?" the doctor questions.

"Six is very good given the circumstances," Marty manages a small smile.

"Good, so now… I would simply ask you to tell me what injuries you remember having gotten over the years. You don't have to go into detail about how you got them, unless you feel the need to, because then I will of course gladly listen to you, but other than that… you just have to pretty much give me a list of what to look for. Then I will tell the nurses what body parts to take x-rays from and the like. We don't want to bother you with tests and x-rays of parts that weren't hurt. So that you can soon get the hell out of here. Is that okay for you?" Dr. Cramer asks in a warm voice.

"Yeah, sounds good to me, yeah," Marty nods, actually glad for the man's approach. It feels more like gathering evidence. And that he is okay that Marty just wants to get over with it makes the teenager even more confident that this is not the worst of worst case scenarios, at least for that little scenario here.

"Alright, so… whenever you are ready, you can go ahead. We have time, so take it if you need to," the doctor assures him, but much to the older men's surprise, Marty straightly goes ahead, "I received a few blows to the head when I was around… seven to eight years old, though I don't think those were too severe, so I don't know if that would show on any x-ray. I got a few jabs in the face… I had my right shoulder dislocated a few times… because he twisted the arm… I also had a cast for the left hand once, though I don't know if it was broken… or if yes, what was broken exactly. I guess the ribs also got a fair share… and the back."

Callen bites the inside of his cheek, but chooses not to comment.

"Okay, thank you for sharing that," the doctor replies in a soft, but reassuring voice. "Did you receive other injury? Burns? Cuts? Again, if you don't want to answer that, it's fine."

"… he never burned me, no cuts either, other than a split lip, but he never used a knife if that's what you are asking. He's only… like… beaten my mother and I around," Marty tells him. "Except for… ugh… right, this here."

He shows his left elbow where you can see fine scars, "One time he pushed me over to our table, which had a glass tabletop. I landed in such a way that the glass broke and I cut myself here."

Callen bites his tongue this time, trying to concentrate on a small stain on the opposite wall, because he feels like screaming right now. Loud.

"Did you see a doctor? Is there a medical record, do you know?" the physician questions.

"Not the way I reckon," Marty shrugs. "I mean, of course I saw a doc, but dad's never beaten me around the time so that there were no bruises or whatever. I'd get my flu shot or so and off I went. For the rest… if it got really bad… ugh, he's got a friend who's a retired doctor… at least he used to say that. When I injured my elbow, he brought me there because it wouldn't stop bleeding."

"Do you know his name?" G frowns.

"Bert Fuller, but he died a year before I ran away," Marty replies. "He's never made records of that, though, if that's what you are hinting at."

G purses his lips shut.

"School nurses?" the doctor goes on to question, but the teen just shakes his head, "Again, dad had mom tell him when there were examinations or whatever. And he told me to never show it or else… yeah… I guess you can imagine the rest."

"Is there anything else you'd like to mention?" Dr. Cramer asks.

"Not really," Marty shrugs, not meeting the older man's eyes.

"Okay, so do you think you're up to taking some x-rays?" the doctor questions.

"I've been waiting for my personal mugshots in a while," Marty jokes.

"Good, then let me get Paul for you, he will lead you to the room, if that's okay," the physician suggests.

"Sure," Marty nods. Soon Paul, a tall orderly with a nice smile and dark tan, arrives. The way Marty figures, this guy is a surfer – he looks like it, which makes him like the orderly a lot more.

"Would you please take him to the x-ray room? I will be there in a minute," Dr. Cramer asks Paul, who gives a nod, "Of course. Alright, follow me."

"Aye-aye," Marty says, making a mock-salute. The two head off.

"On a word?" Dr. Cramer turns to Callen, who replies, "Yes."

"Do you think he kept anything from us? I just ask so that we don't miss something that may help to prove your case. I know that some children still tend to hide injuries or scars because the memory is still too hurtful for them," Dr. Cramer asks, confirming Callen in his choice of this particular physician. He knows what he is doing, and Marty likes him. That's the most important.

"Marty's never said anything other than that he beat him around, and that is bad enough already," Callen tells him.

"Simply unforgiveable," the older man agrees. "I just want to be on the safe side."

"I get that, but I think we are," G replies.

"Alright… is he okay with men staying in the room or would he prefer a female nurse, you think? I just don't want him to be forced to say it, you see?" the doctor asks.

"I think he is better around guys," G says. At least that was so when he first met him.

"Good, gladly the radiologist happens to be a man," Dr. Cramer winks at him.

"Then we should be good," Callen chuckles softly.

"Alright, I will stay with him, though, so that he doesn't feel too frightened and has someone around he knows," Dr. Cramer suggests.

"Thank you," Callen nods

"We will be back in a bit," the physician says before heading out himself, leaving Callen pacing around the room, trying to count the dots on the wall to distract himself from the emotions bubbling up his stomach to his head.

Because he definitely wants to punch something.

Or rather – someone.

If only it weren't against the law to just punch his father in the face.

* * *

Soon Marty finds himself in one of those hideous gowns, sitting on the cold metal table in the room's center, making him feel much smaller than he is.

"Alright, Marty, if you are ready, I would ask you to lie down on your back," the radiologist asks him kindly. Marty obeys wordlessly while the man cautiously moves his limbs into position, though the teenager notes with curiosity that he actually doesn't feel frightened by the touches this time. "Now you have to lie still," the radiologist tells him. "I will take the x-ray and then we move on. No worries, this doesn't hurt."

"I know," Marty nods at him, flashing a nice smile.

"I'm right behind that wall with Dr. Cramer," the physician says before walking behind said wall. The teenager stares at the ceiling, which mashes into twirls of grey above him, like the sky looks like short before a tornado.

Maybe thinking about natural catastrophes is not a smart move right now…

Marty really doesn't like hospitals.

The teenager just wants to get over with this, because honestly? He can already feel the phantom pains rushing him only at the memory – and that even though he didn't have that in felt eternities.

Or perhaps it was only just yesterday… Marty is losing track of time.

It's just drifting away, like the tornado on the ceiling.

Marty doesn't even realize that the radiologist came back inside to rearrange his position.

"Are you doing okay there?" Dr. Cramer asks over the microphone.

"Awesome," Marty lies swiftly.

"We work as fast as we can," the radiologist assures him.

"Take your time," Marty replies. The teenager looks at the ceiling again, suddenly having an uneasy feeling he can't explain. Perhaps it's that the lights are out and there is a spotlight… Marty screws his eyes shut.

Yep, _that's_ why.

Memories can be great at times, but very often they are just painful. Whenever Marty has a sort of flashback or a memory sneaking all the way up his back, his knuckles start to hurt for some reason, but not the way it'd hurt if someone stepped on them. The ache is dull, as though his bones shrunk, forcing his hands to clench, if that is making any sense… Okay, scratch that, none of this is making sense because no one hurts his fingers and he surely has no chronic hand pains. He'd know that. Marty just has it when his mind wants to travel to the dark parts of his mind, of his past, stored inside his mind. And right now his fists are clenching to the point that Marty is sure it'd mess up the x-rays if they were taking them of these limbs now. The teenager forces another deep breath out of his ribcage.

G.

Kensi.

Sam.

Eric.

Nell.

Hetty.

Nate.

Michelle.

Jazzy.

Marie.

Ten good things to counter the bad. The bad memories of the ring when he was put to display in a dingy room with its only light source being that stupid spotlight.

He knows it's not like that now, but the memories just want to come back, are washed over him in huge waves.

It's just because of the overall situation, probably.

They are past that. He is past that, or well, he was… mostly.

No more flashbacks.

Flashforward.

Beep.

"We're almost done, just a few more, alright?" the radiologist coaches him.

"Okay," Marty replies sheepishly.

Breathing in and out… something about the meditation Sam tried to beat into his brain might be helpful here, but then Marty would just burst out laughing – and that would mess with the x-rays.

Okay, what were the presidents of the US again? Backwards?

That's boring.

Spanish vocab?

There was supposed to be a test… but then this happened, so no one is thinking about tests anyway…

Beep.

"Alright, Marty, that's it for the moment," Dr. Cramer says, pulling Marty out of his musing. That went fast, all of a sudden. The teenager straightens up instantly, getting rid of the lead apron around his waist.

"Can I go change back now? I feel way too girly in this. And the color doesn't suit me, at all," Marty jokes.

"Go ahead. Once you are ready, Paul will take you back to your brother. I will just wait for the results and join you in a moment," Dr. Cramer tells him.

"Thanks for the nice mugshots, doc," Marty tells the radiologist before quickly disappearing into the adjacent room again to change back into his clothes, finding the fabric exceptionally soothing against his skin. Once he is done he exits, finding Paul waiting for him.

"Alright, I'm ready if you are ready," Marty greets the tall man.

"Shall we?" he smirks, mockingly holding out his arm to the teenager.

"I feared you'd never ask, Paul," Marty grins. The orderly chuckles as he leads the teenager back to the room where G is nervously pacing. His face lights up upon seeing his brother, though. He looks fine and not stressed-out, something G really started to worry about once the kid was gone.

"Hey. Did everything go alright?" G asks.

"It was okay," Marty nods. In the end it was. The mind is a great escape after all.

"The doctor will be here any minute now," Paul says.

"Thank you," G nods curtly. With that the orderly leaves.

"And you're really okay? Or are you just putting on the smiley-face again?" Callen questions.

"As I said, I don't like hospitals, but… I'm at a solid… three, I guess," Marty replies.

"And in the room?" Callen asks.

"Short moment of a ten, but it passed once I said my ten things to myself. That works miracles," Marty beams at him.

"Good," Callen can't help but smile as well.

"You're hovering much, huh?" Marty snorts playfully.

"I'm not hovering, I'm just worried, alright?" Callen grins. And doesn't he have any reason to?

"I'm, too," Marty mutters. Callen pulls him close, running his fingers over Marty's scalp, "We fight this, and we do anything to win."

"Yeah, I know," Marty nods into his brother's chest.

* * *

After the final talk with the doc, the brothers head back to the NCIS. One thing less to worry about. A million remain.

"Ah, there you are!" Sam greets the two as they come inside. "Did everything go alright?"

"No surprise flu-shots," Marty replies.

"Yeah, those are suckers," Sam chuckles softly. It amazes him how the kid manages to make a joke in such a situation and mean it.

"Ah, Mr. Callen! Mr. Deeks!" Hetty greets them, walking up to the group. "Did everything go smoothly?"

"Yes," Callen replies. "The doctor writes the reports now, so this is something we don't have to worry about anymore."

"Very well. I call this a success, then," the petite woman nods. "But we didn't just sit still while you were away. We've been quite busy as well."

"This kinda scares me now," Callen makes a face.

"Mr. Deeks? Would you come with me little quick?" Hetty turns to the teenager, who frowns at her uncertainly, "Sure..."

"Mr. Callen, you, too," Hetty motions at the agent to follow. The three walk over to the lounge area. In the corner now stands a small wooden table and stool with some personal items from Marty on it, accompanied by his school books and other school material. While it is new to the room, it looks as though it always belonged there, though. It complements the room, to be exact.

"What's that for?" Marty blinks at her incredulously.

"This is for you to work at, for your studies. Now you have a place here in the NCIS where you can go after your education for as long as Mr. Callen is at work here. Ms. Jones arranged some of your personal items on there so that you'd feel more at home," Hetty explains, shooting a quick glance over at Callen, who gets the broader hint here, of course. This is also to please the judge later on, but the gesture is nevertheless… outstanding.

"Mr. Deeks?" Hetty says in a soft tone. He glances at the woman, so she goes on, "The entire team is standing behind you. And that is what we wanted to... show, with that little gesture."

"This is huge!" Marty insists. A desk. To other people that may seem small, but this is not small to him. This means the world to him, because it comes from the people who mean the world to him.

"And you deserve huge," Callen smiles at him softly. Marty then walks over to Hetty to pull her into a hug, much to her surprise, and Callen's as well. Marty doesn't do hugs that often, except for Callen and Kensi on occasion, so that he does it is already a small miracle, but the real miracle is that he goes for Hetty, for whom he always feels the highest respect and maybe even a bit of intimidated.

"Thank you so much," Marty mutters into her shoulder. Hetty pats him on the back, visibly taken aback by the gesture. Callen smiles as he winks at her. Marty is probably the only person who gets to hug Hetty like that – and to actually get this kind of reaction from her as a result.

"You are very, very welcome, Mr. Deeks."


End file.
